[HE  1  IBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CAL IFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


^HU 

Lx* 


BACKLOG  STUDIES 


CHARLES    DUDLEY    WARNER, 

AUTHOR  OF  "SAUNTERINGS,"  "MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN, 
ETC. 


WITH    TWENTY-ONE   ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  AUGUSTUS  HOP  PIN. 


BOSTON : 
JAMES    R.  OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY, 

LATE  TICKNOR  &  FIELDS,  AND  FIELDS,  OSGOOD,  &  Co. 
I873- 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872, 

BY  JAMES    K.    OSGOOD  &   CO., 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  WELCH.  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
I 


••....  23 

51 

78 

FIFTH  STUDY 105 

SIXTH  STUDY 137 

SEVENTH  STUDY        . 166 

EIGHTH  STUDY      ....               .        .  181 

NINTH  STUDY 212 

TENTH  STUDY 241 

ELEVENTH  STUDY     ...        o        ...  259 


2041786 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

DRAWN  BY  AUGUSTUS  HOPPIN. 


1.  PEACE  AT  THE  FIRESIDE Frontispiece. 

FIRST  STUDY. 

2.  Headpiece.    The  Fire-Tender  cutting  Back- Logs  i 

SECOND    STUDY. 

3.  Headpiece.     Cupid  writing  Love-Letters  on  Birch-Bark     ...      23 

THIRD    STUDY. 

4.  Headpiece.     Andirons  Talking    .         .         ......       51 

5.  Tailpiece.       Big  Violin  in  a  Storm 77 

FOURTH    STUDY. 

6.  Headpiece.     Ghost  appearing  from  the  Flame 78 

7.  Tailpiece.       Devil  Smoking 104 

FIFTH    STUDY. 

8.  Headpiece.     Young  Girl  in  Hammock 105 

Q.   Tailpiece.       Child  decorating  Bust .          136 

SIXTH    STUDY. 

10.  Headpiece.     The  Fire-Tender  reading  in  his  Winter  Garden     .         .     137 

11.  Tailpiece.       Spring  Bird  arriving  from  the  South   ....         165 

SEVENTH    STUDY.   * 

12.  Headpiece.     Studying  Gothic  Architecture  in  the  Woods  .         .         .     166 

13.  Tailpiece.       A  Modern  Goth  in  Church  behind  Pillars  and  unable  to 

see  the  Preacher  .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .180 

EIGHTH    STUDY. 

14.  Headpiece.     Tailor-Cupids  riding  on  a  Goose      .         .         .        .         .181 

15.  Tailpiece.       Woman  rules  the  World       .         .         .        .         •        .         211 

NINTH    STUDY. 

16.  Headpiece.     Cupid  seated  by  a  Burning  Log,  fans  the  Flame    .        .     212 

17.  Tailpiece.       Shears  cutting  up  Poems 240 

TENTH   STUDY. 

1 8.  Headpiece.     Visiting  the  Old  Man 241 

19.  Tailpiece.       Monkey  copying  a  Bust  .....         258 


ELEVENTH    STUDY. 

20.  Headpiece.     Bringing  Home  the  Yule  Log  .....     259 

21.  Tailpiece.       Cupids  ringing  Christmas  Chimes       ....         281 


HE  fire  on  the  hearth  has  almost 
r  gone  out  in  New  England  ;  the  hearth 
*.  has  gone  out  ;  the  family  has  lost 
its  centre ;  age  ceases  to  be  respected ;  sex 
is  only  distinguished  by  the  difference  between 
millinery  bills  and  tailors'  bills;  there  is  no 
more  toast-and-cider ;  the  young  are  not  al 
lowed  to  eat  mince-pies  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night ;  half  a  cheese  is  no  longer  set  to  toast 
before  the  fire  ;  you  scarcely  ever  see  in  front 
of  the  coals  a  row  of  roasting  apples,  which 
a  bright  little  girl,  with  many  a  dive  and 
start,  shielding  her  sunny  face  from  the  fire 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


with  one  hand,  turns  from  time  to  time  ; 
scarce  are  the  gray-haired  sires  who  strop 
their  razors  on  the  family  Bible,  and  doze 
in  the  chimney-corner.  A  good  many  things 
have  gone  out  with  the  fire  .on  the  hearth. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  public  and  pri 
vate  morality  have  vanished  with  the  hearth. 
A  good  degree  of  purity  and  considerable  hap 
piness  are  possible  with  grates  and  blowers  ;  it 
is  a  day  of  trial,  when  we  are  all  passing  through 
a  fiery  furnace,  and  very  likely  we  shall  be  puri 
fied  as  we  are  dried  up  and  wasted  away.  Of 
course  the  family  is  gone,  as  an  institution, 
though  there  still  are  attempts  to  bring  up  a 
family  round  a  "  register."  But  you  might  just 
as  well  try  to  bring  it  up  by  hand,  as  without  the 
rallying-point  of  a  hearthstone.  Are  there  any 
homesteads  nowadays  ?  Do  people  hesitate  to 
change  houses  any  more  than  they  do  to  change 
their  clothes  ?  People  hire  houses  as  they  would 
a  masquerade  costume,  liking,  sometimes,  to  ap 
pear  for  a  year  in  a  little  fictitious  stone-front 
splendor  above  their  means.  Thus  it  happens 
that  so  many  people  live  in  houses  that  do  not 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


fit  them.  I  should  almost  as  soon  think  of 
wearing  another  person's  clothes  as  his  house  ; 
unless  I  could  let  it  out  and  take  it  in  until  it 
fitted,  and  somehow  expressed  my  own  character 
and  taste.  But  we  have  fallen  into  the  days  of 
conformity.  It  is  no  wonder  that  people  con 
stantly  go  into  their  neighbors'  houses  by  mis 
take,  just  as,  in  spite  of  the  Maine  law,  they  wear 
away  each  other's  hats  from  an  evening  party. 
It  has  almost  come  to  this,  that  you  might  as 
well  be  anybody  else  as  yourself. 

Am  I  mistaken  in  supposing  that  this  is  owing 
to  the  discontinuance  of  big  chimneys,  with  wide 
fireplaces  in  them  ?  How  can  a  person  be  at 
tached  to  a  house  that  has  no  centre  of  attraction, 
no  soul  in  it,  in  the  visible  form  of  a  glowing  fire, 
and  a  warm  chimney,  like  the  heart  in  the  body  ? 
When  you  think  of  the  old  homestead,  if  you  ever 
do,  your  thoughts  go  straight  to  the  wide  chim 
ney  and  its  burning  logs.  No  wonder  that  you 
are  ready  to  move  from  one  fireplaceless  house 
into  another.  But  you  have  something  just  as 
good,  you  say.  Yes,  I  have  heard  of  it.  This 
age,  which  imitates  everything,  even  to  the  vir- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


tues  of  our  ancestors,  has  invented  a  fireplace, 
with  artificial,  iron,  or  composition  logs  in  it, 
hacked  and  painted,  in  which  gas  is  burned,  so 
that  it  has  the  appearance  of  a  wood  fire.  This 
seems  to  me  blasphemy.  Do  you  think  a  cat 
would  lie  down  before  it  ?  Can  you  poke  it  ?  If 
you  can't  poke  it,  it  is  a  fraud.  To  poke  a  wood 
fire  is  more  solid  enjoyment  than  almost  anything 
else  in  the  world.  The  crowning  human  virtue 
in  a  man  is  to  let  his  wife  poke  the  fire.  I  do 
not  know  how  any  virtue  whatever  is  possible 
over  an  imitation  gas  log.  What  a  sense  of 
insincerity  the  family  must  have,  if  they  indulge 
in  the  hypocrisy  of  gathering  about  it.  With 
this  centre  of  untruthfulness,  what  must  the  life 
in  the  family  be  ?  Perhaps  the  father  will  be 
living  at  the  rate  of  ten  thousand  a  year  on  a 
salary  of  four  thousand  ;  perhaps  the  mother, 
more  beautiful  and  younger  than  her  beautified 
daughters^  will  rouge  ;  perhaps  the  young  ladies 
will  make  wax-work.  A  cynic  might  suggest  as 
the  motto  of  modern  life  this  simple  legend,  — 
"Just  as  good  as  the  real."  But  I  am  not  a  cynic, 
and  I  hope  for  the  rekindling  of  wood  fires,  and  a 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  5 

return  of  the  beautiful  home  light  from  them.  If 
a  wood  fire  is  a  luxury,  it  is  cheaper  than  many 
in  which  we  indulge  without  thought,  and  cheaper 
than  the  visits  of  a  doctor,  made  necessary  by  the 
want  of  ventilation  of  the  house.  Not  that  I 
have  anything  against  doctors  ;  I  only  wish,  after 
they  have  been  to  see  us  in  a  way  that  seems  so 
friendly,  they  had  nothing  against  us. 

My  fireplace,  which  is  deep,  and  nearly  three 
feet  wide,  has  a  broad  hearth-stone  in  front  of  it, 
where  the  live  coals  tumble  down,  and  a  pair  of 
gigantic  brass  andirons.  The  brasses  are  bur 
nished,  and  shine  cheerfully  in  the  firelight,  and 
on  either  side  stand  tall  shovel  and  tongs,  like 
sentries,  mounted  in  brass.  The  tongs,  like  the 
two-handed  sword  of  Bruce,  cannot  be  wielded  by 
puny  people.  We  burn  in  it  hickory  wood,  cut 
long.  We  like  the  smell  of  this  aromatic  forest 
timber,  and  its  clear  flame.  The  birch  is  also  a 
sweet  wood  for  the  hearth,  with  a  sort  of  spiritual 
flame  and  an  even  temper,  —  no  snappishness. 
Some  prefer  the  elm,  which  holds  fire  so  well  ; 
and  I  have  a  neighbor  who  uses  nothing  but  apple- 
tree  wood,  —  a  solid,  family  sort  of  wood,  fragrant 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


also,  and  full  of  delightful  suggestions.  But  few 
people  can  afford  to  burn  up  their  fruit-trees. 
I  should  as  soon  think  of  lighting  the  fire  with 
sweet-oil  that  comes  in  those  graceful  wicker- 
bound  flasks  from  Naples,  or  with  manuscript 
sermons,  which,  however,  do  not  burn  well,  be 
they  never  so  dry,  —  not  half  so  well  as  printed 
editorials. 

Few  people  know  how  to  make  a  wood  fire,  but 
everybody  thinks  he  or  she  does.  You  want, 
first,  a  large  backlog,  which  does  not  rest  on  the 
andirons.  This  will  keep  your  fire  forward,  radi 
ate  heat  all  day,  and  late  in  the  evening  fall  into 
a  ruin  of  glowing  coals,  like  the  last  days  of  a 
good  man,  whose  life  is  the  richest  and  most  be 
neficent  at  the  close,  when  the  flames  of  passion 
and  the  sap  of  youth  are  burned  out,  and  there 
only  remain  the  solid,  bright  elements  of  charac 
ter.  Then  you  want  a  forestick  on  the  andirons  ; 
and  upon  these  build  the  fire  of  lighter  stuff.  In 
this  way  you  have  at  once  a  cheerful  blaze,  and 
the  fire  gradually  eats  into  the  solid  mass,  sink 
ing  down  with  increasing  fervor ;  coals  drop 
below,  and  delicate  tongues  of  flame  sport  along 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  7 

the  beautiful  grain  of  the  forestick.  There  are 
people  who  kindle  a  fire  underneath.  But  these 
are  conceited  people,  who  are  wedded  to  their 
own  way.  I  suppose  an  accomplished  incendiary 
always  starts  a  fire  in  the  attic,  if  he  can.  I  am_ 
not  an  incendiary,  but  I  hate  bigotry.  I  don't 
call  those  incendiaries  very  good  Christians  who, 
when  they  set  fire  to  the  martyrs,  touched  off  the 
fagots  at  the  bottom,  so  as  to  make  them  go  slow. 
Besides,  knowledge  works  down  easier  than  it 
does  up.  Education  must  proceed  from  the  more 
enlightened  down  to  the  more  ignorant  strata. 
If  you  want  better  common  schools,  raise  the 
standard  of  the  colleges,  and  so  on.  Build  your 
fire  on  top.  Let  your  light  shine.  I  have  seen 
people  build  a  fire  under  a  balky  horse  ;  but  he 
would  n't  go,  he  'd  be  a  horse-martyr  first.  A 
fire  kindled  under  one  never  did  him  any  good. 
Of  course  you  can  make  a  fire  on  the  hearth  by 
kindling  it  underneath,  but  that  does  not  make  it 
right.  I  want  my  hearth-fire  to  be  an  emblem  of 
the  best  things. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


II. 

IT  must  be  confessed  that  a  wood  fire  needs  as 
much  tending  as  a  pair  of  twins.  To  say  nothing 
of  fiery  projectiles  sent  into  the  room,  even  by 
the  best  wood,  from  the  explosion  of  gases  con 
fined  in  its  cells,  the  brands  are  continually  drop 
ping  down,  and  coals  are  being  scattered  over 
the  hearth.  However  much  a  careful  house 
wife,  who  thinks  more  of  neatness  than  enjoy 
ment,  may  dislike  this,  it  is  one  of  the  chief 
delights  of  a  wood  fire.  I  would  as  soon  have 
an  Englishman  without  side-whiskers  as  a  fire 
without  a  big  backlog ;  and  I  would  rather  have 
no  fire  than  one  that  required  no  tending,  —  one 
of  dead  wood  that  could  not  sing  again  the  im 
prisoned  songs  of  the  forest,  or  give  out  in  bril 
liant  scintillations  the  sunshine  it  absorbed  in 
its  growth.  Flame  is  an  ethereal  sprite,  and  the 
spice  of  danger  in  it  gives  zest  to  the  care  of 
the  hearth-fire.  Nothing  is  so  beautiful  as 
springing,  changing  flame, —  it  was  the  last 
freak  of  the  Gothic  architecture  men  to  repre 
sent  the  fronts  of  elaborate  edifices  of  stone  as 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


on  fire,  by  the  kindling  flamboyant  devices.  A 
fireplace  is,  besides,  a  private  laboratory,  where 
one  can  witness  the  most  brilliant  chemical  ex 
periments,  minor  conflagrations  only  wanting  the 
grandeur  of  cities  on  fire.  It  is  a  vulgar  notion 
that  a  fire  is  only  for  heat.  A  chief  value  of  it 
is,  however,  to  look  at.  It  is  a  picture,  framed 
between  the  jambs.  You  have  nothing  on  your 
walls,  by  the  best  masters  (the  poor  masters  are 
not,  however,  represented)  that  is  really  so  fas 
cinating,  so  spiritual.  Speaking  like  an  uphol 
sterer,  it  furnishes  the  room.  And  it  is  never 
twice  the  same.  In  this  respect  it  is  like  the 
landscape-view  through  a  window,  always  seen 
in  a  new  light,  color,  or  condition.  The  fireplace 
is  a  window  into  the  most  charming  world  I  ever 
had  a  glimpse  of. 

Yet  direct  heat  is  an  agreeable  sensation.  I 
am  not  scientific  enough  to  despise  it,  and  have 
no  taste  for  a  winter  residence  on  Mount  Wash 
ington,  where  the  thermometer  cannot  be  kept 
comfortable  even  by  boiling.  They  say  that 
they  say  in  Boston  that  there  is  a  satisfaction 
in  being  well  dressed  which  religion  cannot 


10  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

give.  There  is  certainly  a  satisfaction  in  the 
direct  radiance  of  a  hickory  fire  which  is  not  to 
be  found  in  the  fieriest  blasts  of  a  furnace. 
The  hot  air  of  a  furnace  is  a  sirocco  ;  the  heat 
of  a  wood  fire  is  only  intense  sunshine,  like  that 
bottled  in  Lacrimae  Christi.  Besides  this,  the 
eye  is  delighted,  the  sense  of  smell  is  regaled 
by  the  fragrant  decomposition,  and  the  ear  is 
pleased  with  the  hissing,  crackling,  and  singing, 
—  a  liberation  of  so  many  out-door  noises.  Some 
people  like  the  sound  of  bubbling  in  a  boiling 
pot,  or  the  fizzing  of  a  frying-spider.  But  there 
is  nothing  gross  in  the  animated  crackling  of 
sticks  of  wood  blazing  on  the  hearth  ;  not  even 
if  chestnuts  are  roasting  in  the  ashes.  All  the 
senses  are  ministered  to,  and  the  imagination  is 
left  as  free  as  the  leaping  tongues  of  flame. 

The  attention  which  a  wood  fire  demands  is 
one  of  its  best  recommendations.  We  value  lit 
tle  that  which  costs  us  no  trouble  to  maintain. 
If  we  had  to  keep  the  sun  kindled  up  and  going 
by  private  corporate  action,  or  act  of  Congress, 
and  to  be  taxed  for  the  support  of  customs  offi 
cers  of  solar  heat,  we  should  prize  it  more  than 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  \  i 

we  do.  Not  that  I  should  like  to  look  upon  the 
sun  as  a  job,  and  have  the  proper  regulation  of 
its  temperature  get  into  politics,  where  we  al 
ready  have  so  much  combustible  stuff;  but  we 
take  it  quite  too  much  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and,  having  it  free,  do  not  reckon  it  among  the 
reasons  for  gratitude.  Many  people  shut  it  out 
of  their  houses  as  if  it  were  an  enemy,  watch 
its  descent  upon  the  carpet  as  if  it  were  only  a 
thief  of  color,  and  plant  trees  to  shut  it  away 
from  the  mouldering  house.  All  the  animals 
know  better  than  this,  as  well  as  the  more  sim 
ple  races  of  men  ;  the  old  women  of  the  south 
ern  Italian  coasts  sit  all  day  in  the  sun  and  ply 
the  distaff,  as  grateful  as  the  sociable  hens  on 
the  south  <side  of  a  New  England  barn  ;  the  slow 
tortoise  likes  to  take  the  sun  upon  his  slop 
ing  back,  soaking  in  color  that  shall  make  him 
immortal  when  the  imperishable  part  of  him  is 
cut  up  into  shell  ornaments.  The  capacity  of 
a  cat  to  absorb  sunshine  is  only  equalled  by  that 
of  an  Arab  or  an  Ethiopian.  They  are  not 
afraid  of  injuring  their  complexions.  White 
must  be  the  color  of  civilization ;  it  has  so 


12  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

many  natural  disadvantages.  But  this  is  poli 
tics.  I  was  about  to  say  that,  however  it  may 
be  with  sunshine,  one  is  always  grateful  for  his 
wood  fire,  because  he  does  not  maintain  it  without 
some  cost. 

Yet  I  cannot  but  confess  to  a  difference  be 
tween  sunlight  and  the  light  of  a  wood  fire. 
The  sunshine  is  entirely  untamed.  Where  it 
rages  most  freely  it  tends  to  evoke  the  brilliancy 
rather  than  the  harmonious  satisfactions  of  na 
ture.  The  monstrous  growths  and  the  flaming 
colors  of  the  tropics  contrast  with  our  more  sub 
dued  loveliness  of  foliage  and  bloom.  The  birds 
of  the  middle  region  dazzle  with  their  contrasts 
of  plumage,  and  their  voices  are  for  screaming 
rather  than  singing.  I  presume  the  new  experi 
ments  in  sound  would  project  a  macaw's  voice  in 
very  tangled  and  inharmonious  lines  of  light.  I 
suspect  that  the  fiercest  sunlight  puts  people,  as 
well  as  animals  and  vegetables,  on  extremes  in 
all  ways.  A  wood  fire  on  the  hearth  is  a  kindler 
of  the  domestic  virtues.  It  brings  in  cheerful 
ness,  and  a  family  centre,  and,  besides,  it  is 
artistic.  I  should  like  to  know  if  an  artist 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  13 

could  ever  represent  on  canvas  a  happy  family 
gathered  round  a  hole  in  the  floor  called  a  regis 
ter.  Given  a  fireplace,  and  a  tolerable  artist 
could  almost  create  a  pleasant  family  round  it. 
But  what  could  he  conjure  out  of  a  register? 
If  there  was  any  virtue  among  our  ancestors, 

—  and   they  labored  under  a  great  many  disad 
vantages,    and   had    few   of  the    aids  which  we 
have   to   excellence   of    life,  —  I    am    convinced 
they  drew  it  mostly  from  the  fireside.     If  it  was 
difficult    to  read    the  eleven  commandments  by 
the  light  of  a  pine-knot,  it  was  not  difficult  to 
get  the  sweet    spirit   of  them  from  the   counte 
nance  of  the  serene  mother  knitting  in  the  chim 
ney-corner. 

III. 

WHEN  the  fire  is  made,  you  want  to  sit  in 
front  of  it  and  grow  genial  in  its  effulgence.  I 
have  never  been  upon  a  throne,  —  except  in 
moments  of  a  traveller's  curiosity,  about  as  long 
as  a  South  American  dictator  remains  on  one, 

—  but  I  have  no  idea  that  it  compares,  for  pleas 
antness,  with  a  seat  before  a  wood  fire.     A  whole 


14  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

leisure  day  before  yon,  a  good  novel  in  hand, 
and  the  backlog  only  just  beginning  to  kindle, 
with  uncounted  hours  of  comfort  in  it,  —  has  life 
anything  more  delicious  ?  For  "  novel  "  you  can 
substitute  "  Calvin's  Institutes,"  if  you  wish  to 
be  virtuous  as  well  as  happy.  Even  Calvin 
would  melt  before  a  wood  fire.  A  great  snow 
storm,  visible  on  three  sides  of  your  wide-win 
dowed  room,  loading  the  evergreens,  blown  in 
fine  powder  from  the  great  chestnut-tops,  piled 
up  in  ever-accumulating  masses,  covering  the 
paths,  the  shrubbery,  the  hedges,  drifting  and 
clinging  in  fantastic  deposits,  deepening  your 
sense  of  security,  and  taking  away  the  sin  of 
idleness  by  making  it  a  necessity,  this  is  an  ex 
cellent  background  to  your  day  by  the  fire. 

To  deliberately  sit  down  in  the  morning  to 
read  a  novel,  to  enjoy  yourself,  is  this  not,  in 
New  England  (I  am  told  they  don't  read  much 
in  other  parts  of  the  country),  the  sin  of  sins  ? 
Have  you  any  right  to  read,  especially  novels, 
until  you  have  exhausted  the  best  part  of  the 
day  in  some  employment  that  is  called  practi 
cal  ?  Have  you  any  right  to  enjoy  yourself  at 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  15 

all  until  the  fag  end  of  the  day,  when  you  are 
tired  and  incapable  of  enjoying  yourself?  I  am 
aware  that  this  is  the  practice,  if  not  the  theory, 
of  our  society, — to  postpone  the  delights  of 
social  intercourse  until  after  dark,  and  rather 
late  at  night,  when  body  and  mind  are  both 
weary  with  the  exertions  of  business,  and  when 
we  can  give  to  what  is  the  most  delightful  and 
profitable  thing  in  life,  social  and  intellectual 
society,  only  the  weariness  of  dull  brains  and 
over-tired  muscles.  No  wonder  we  take  our 
amusements  sadly,  and  that  so  many  people 
find  dinners  heavy  and  parties  stupid.  Our 
economy  leaves  no  place  for  amusements  ;  we 
merely  add  them  to  the  burden  of  a  life  already 
full.  The  world  is  still  a  little  off  the  track 
as  to  what  is  really  useful. 

I  confess  that  the  morning  is  a  very  good  time 
to  read  a  novel,  or  anything  else  which  is  good, 
and  requires  a  fresh  mind  ;  and  I  take  it  that 
nothing  is  worth  reading  that  does  not  require 
an  alert  mind.  I  suppose  it  is  necessary  that 
business  should  be  transacted ;  though  the 
amount  of  business  that  does  not  contribute  to 


1 6  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

anybody's  comfort  or  improvement  suggests  the 
query  whether  it  is  not  overdone.  I  know  that 
unremitting  attention  to  business  is  the  price 
of  success,  but  I  don't  know  what  success  is. 
There  is  a  man,  whom  we  all  know,  who  built 
a  house  that  cost  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  dol 
lars,  and  furnished  it  for  another  like  sum,  who 
does  not  know  anything  more  about  architec 
ture,  or  painting,  or  books,  or  history,  than  he 
cares  for  the  rights  of  those  who  have  not  so 
much  money  as  he  has.  I  heard  him  once,  in 
a  foreign  gallery,  say  to  his  wife,  as  they  stood 
in  front  of  a  famous  picture  by  Rubens  :  "  That 
is  the  Rape  of  the  Sardines  !  "  What  a  cheerful 
world  it  would  be  if  everybody  was  as  successful 
as  that  man  !  While  I  am  reading  my  book  by 
the  fire,  and  taking  an  active  part  in  impor 
tant  transactions  that  may  be  a  good  deal  better 
than  real,  let  me  be  thankful  that  a  great  many 
men  are  profitably  employed  in  offices  and  bu 
reaus  and  country  stores  in  keeping  up  the  gossip 
and  endless  exchange  of  opinions  among  man 
kind,  so  much  of  which  is  made  to  appear  to  the 
women  at  home  as  "  business."  I  find  that  there 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  \J 

is  a  sort  of  busy  idleness  among  men  in  this 
world  that  is  not  held  in  disrepute.  When  the 
time  comes  that  I  have  to  prove  my  right  to 
vote,  with  women,  I  trust  that  it  will  be  remem 
bered  in  my  favor  that  I  made  this  admission. 
If  it  is  true,  as  a  witty  conservative  once  said  to 
me,  that  we  never  shall  have  peace  in  this  coun 
try  until  we  elect  a  colored  woman  president,  I 
desire  to  be  rectus  in  curia  early. 


IV. 

THE  fireplace,  as  we  said,  is  a  window  through 
which  we  look  out  upon  other  scenes.  We  like 
to  read  of  the  small,  bare  room,  with  cobwebbed 
ceiling  and  narrow  window,  in  which  the  poor 
child  of  genius  sits  with  his  magical  pen,  the 
master  of  a  realm  of  beauty  and  enchantment.  I 
think  the  open  fire  does  not  kindle  the  im 
agination  so  much  as  it  awakens  the  memory  ; 
one  sees  the  past  in  its  crumbling  embers  and 
ashy  grayness,  rather  than  the  future.  People 
become  reminiscent  and  even  sentimental  in 
front  of  it.  They  used  to  become  something 


I  8  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

else  in  those  good  old  days  when  it  was  thought 
best  to  heat  the  poker  red  hot  before  plunging  it 
into  the  mugs  of  flip.  This  heating  of  the  poker 
has  been  disapproved  of  late  years,  but  I  do  not 
know  on  what  grounds  ;  if  one  is  to  drink  bitters 
and  gins  and  the  like,  such  as  I  understand  as 
good  people  as  clergymen  and  women  take  in 
private,  and  by  advice,  I  do  not  know  why  one 
should  not  make  them  palatable  and  heat  them 
with  his  own  poker.  Cold  whiskey  out  of  a 
boitle,  taken  as  a  prescription  six  times  a  day 
on  the  sly,  is  n't  my  idea  of  virtue  any  more  than 
the  social  ancestral  glass,  sizzling  wickedly  with 
the  hot  iron.  Names  are  so  confusing  in  this 
world  ;  but  things  are  apt  to  remain  pretty  much 
the  same,  whatever  we  call  them. 

Perhaps  as  you  look  into  the  fireplace  it  widens 
and  grows  deep  and  cavernous.  The  back  and 
the  jambs  are  built  up  of  great  stones,  not  always 
smoothly  laid,  with  jutting  ledges  upon  which 
ashes  are  apt  to  lie.  The  hearthstone  is  an 
enormous  block  of  trap  rock,  with  a  surface  not 
perfectly  even,  but  a  capital  place  to  crack  butter 
nuts  on.  Over  the  fire  swings  an  iron  crane, 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  19 

with  a  row  of  pot-hooks  of  all  lengths  hanging 
from  it.  It  swings  out  when  the  housewife  wants 
to  hang  on  the  tea-kettle,  and  it. is  strong  enough 
to  support  a  row  of  pots,  or  a  mammoth  cal 
dron  kettle  on  occasion.  What  a  jolly  sight  is 
this  fireplace  when  the  pots  and  kettles  in  a  row 
are  all  boiling  and  bubbling  over  the  flame,  and  a 
roasting-spit  is  turning  in  front !  It  makes  a  per 
son  as  hungry  as  one  of  Scott's  novels.  But  the 
brilliant  sight  is  in  the  frosty  morning,  about 
daylight,  when  the  fire  is  made.  The  coals  are 
raked  open,  the  split  sticks  are  piled  up  in  open 
work  criss-crossing,  as  high  as  the  crane  ;  and 
when  the  flame  catches  hold  and  roars  up  through 
the  interstices,  it  is  like  an  out-of-door  bonfire. 
Wood  enough  is  consumed  in  that  morning  sac 
rifice  to  cook  the  food  of  a  Parisian  family  for  a 
year.  How  it  roars  up  the  wide  chimney,  send 
ing  into  the  air  the  signal  smoke  and  sparks 
which  announce  to  the  fanning  neighbors  an 
other  day  cheerfully  begun  !  The  sleepiest  boy 
in  the  world  would  get  up  in  his  red  flannel 
nightgown  to  see  such  a  fire  lighted,  even  if  he 
dropped  to  sleep  again  in  his  chair  before  the 


20  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

ruddy  blaze.  Then  it  is  that  the  house,  which 
has  shrunk  and  creaked  all  night  in  the  pinching 
cold  of  winter,  begins  to  glow  again  and  come  to 
life.  The  thick  frost  melts  little  by  little  on  the 
small  window-panes,  and  it  is  seen  that  the  gray 
dawn  is  breaking  over  the  leagues  of  pallid  snow. 
It  is  time  to  blow  out  the  candle,  which  has  lost 
all  its  cheerfulness  in  the  light  of  day.  The 
morning  romance  is  over ;  the  family  is  astir ; 
and  member  after  member  appears  with  the 
morning  yawn,  to  stand  before  the  crackling, 
fierce  conflagration.  The  daily  round  begins. 
The  most  hateful  employment  ever  invented  for 
mortal  man  presents  itself:  the  "chores"  are  to 
be  done.  The  boy  who  expects  every  morning 
to  open  into  a  new  world  finds  that  to-day  is  like 
yesterday,  but  he  believes  to-morrow  will  be 
different.  And  yet  enough  for  him,  for  the  day, 
is  the  wading  in  the  snow-drifts,  or  the  sliding  on 
the  diamond-sparkling  crust.  Happy,  too,  is  he, 
when  the  storm  rages,  and  the  snow  is  piled  high 
against  the  windows,  if  he  can  sit  in  the  warm 
chimney-corner  and  read  about  Burgoyne,  and 
General  Fraser,  and  Miss  McCrea,  midwinter 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  21 

marches  through  the  wilderness,  surprises  of  wig 
wams,  and  the  stirring  ballad,  say,  of  the  Battle 
of  the  Kegs  :  — 

"  Come,  gallants,  attend  and  list  a  friend 

Thrill  forth  harmonious  ditty  ; 
While  I  shall  tell  what  late  befell 
At  Philadelphia  city." 

I  should  like  to  know  what  heroism  a  boy  in 
an  old  New  England  farm-house  —  rough-nursed 
by  nature,  and  fed  on  the  traditions  of  the  old 
wars  —  did  not  aspire  to.  "  John,"  says  the 
mother,  "  you  '11  burn  your  head  to  a  crisp  in ' 
that  heat."  But  John  does  not  hear ;  he  is 
storming  the  Plains  of  Abraham  just  now. 
"Johnny,  dear,  bring  in  a  stick  of  wood." 
How  can  Johnny  bring  in  wood  when  he  is 
in  that  defile  with  Braddock,  and  the  Indians 
are  popping  at  him  from  behind  every  tree  ? 
There  is  something  about  a  boy  that  I  like, 
after  all. 

The  fire  rests  upon  the  broad  hearth  ;  the 
hearth  rests  upon  a  great  substruction  of  stone, 
and  the  substruction  rests  upon  the  cellar. 
What  supports  the  cellar  I  never  knew,  but 


22  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

the  cellar  supports  the  family.  The  cellar  is 
the  foundation  of  domestic  comfort.  Into  its 
dark,  cavernous  recesses  the  child's  imagina 
tion  fearfully  goes.  Bogies  guard  the  bins  of 
choicest  apples.  I  know  not  what  comical  sprites 
sit  astride  the  cider-barrels  ranged  along  the 
walls.  The  feeble  flicker  of  the  tallow-candle 
does  not  at  all  dispel,  but  creates,  illusions, 
and  magnifies  all  the  rich  possibilities  of  this 
underground  treasure-house.  When  the  cellar- 
door  is  opened,  and  the  boy  begins  to  descend 
into  the  thick  darkness,  it  is  always  with  a  heart 
beat  as  of  one  started  upon  some  adventure. 
Who  can  forget  the  smell  that  comes  through  the 
opened  door;  —  a  mingling  of  fresh  earth,  fruit 
exhaling  delicious  aroma,  kitchen  vegetables,  the 
mouldy  odor  of  barrels,  a  sort  of  ancestral  air,  — 
as  if  a  door  had  been  opened  into  an  old  romance. 
Do  you  like  it  ?  Not  much.  But  then  I  would 
not  exchange  the  remembrance  of  it  for  a  good 
many  odors  and  perfumes  that  I  do  like. 

It  is  time  to  punch  the  backlog  and  put  on  a 
new  forestick. 


i HE  log  was  white  birch.  The  beau 
tiful  satin  Lark  at  once  kindled  into 
a  soft,  pure,  but  brilliant  flame,  some 
thing  like  that  of  naphtha.  There  is  no  other 
wood  flame  so  rich,  and  it  leaps  up  in  a  joy 
ous,  spiritual  way,  as  if  glad  to  burn  for  the 
sake  of  burning.  Burning  like  a  clear  oil,  it  has 
none  of  the  heaviness  and  fatness  of  the  pine 
and  the  balsam.  Woodsmen  are  at  a  loss  to 
account  for  its  intense  and  yet  chaste  flame, 
since  the  bark  has  no  oily  appearance.  The 
heat  from  it  is  fierce,  and  the  light  dazzling.  It 
flares  up  eagerly  like  young  love,  and  then  dies 
away  ;  the  wood  does  not  keep  up  the  promise 
of  the  bark.  The  woodsmen,  it  is  proper  to  say, 


24  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

have  not  considered  it  in  its  relation  to  young 
love.  In  the  remote  settlements  the  pine-knot  is 
still  the  torch  of  courtship  ;  it  endures  to  sit  up 
by.  The  birch-bark  has  alliances  with  the  world 
of  sentiment  and  of  letters.  The  most  poetical 
reputation  of  the  North  American  Indian  floats 
in  a  canoe  made  of  it ;  his  picture-writing  was 
inscribed  on  it.  It  is  the  paper  that  nature  fur 
nishes  for  lovers  in  the  wilderness,  who  are 
enabled  to  convey  a  delicate  sentiment  by  its 
use,  which  is  expressed  neither  in  their  ideas  nor 
chirography.  It  is  inadequate  for  legal  parch 
ment,  but  does  very  well  for  deeds  of  love,  which 
are  not  meant  usually  to  give  a  perfect  title. 
With  care,  it  may  be  split  into  sheets  as  thin 
as  the  Chinese  paper.  It  is  so  beautiful  to  han 
dle  that  it  is  a  pity  civilization  cannot  make 
more  use  of  it.  But  fancy  articles  manufac 
tured  from  it  are  very  much  like  all  ornamental 
work  made  of  nature's  perishable  seeds,  leaves, 
cones,  and  dry  twigs,  —  exquisite  while  the  pret 
ty  fingers  are  fashioning  it,  but  soon  growing 
shabby  and  cheap  to  the  eye.  And  yet  there  is 
a  pathos  in  "  dried  things,"  whether  they  are  dis- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  2$ 

played  as  ornaments  in  some  secluded  home,  or 
hidden  religiously  in  bureau-drawers  where  pro 
fane  eyes  cannot  see  how  white  ties  are  growing 
yellow  and  ink  is  fading  from  treasured  letters, 
amid  a  faint  and  discouraging  perfume  of  ancient 
rose-leaves. 

The  birch  log  holds  out  very  well  while  it  is 
green,  but  has  not  substance  enough  for  a  back 
log  when  dry.  Seasoning  green  timber  or  men 
is  always  an  experiment.  A  man  may  do  very 
well  in  a  simple,  let  us  say,  country  or  back 
woods  line  of  life,  who  would  come  to  nothing  in 
a  more  complicated  civilization.  City  life  is  a 
severe  trial.  One  man  is  struck  with  a  dry-rot ; 
another  develops  season-cracks  ;  another  shrinks 
and  swells  with  every  change  of  circumstance. 
Prosperity  is  said  to  be  more  trying  than  adver 
sity,  a  theory  which  most  people  are  willing  to  ac 
cept  without  trial ;  but  few  men  stand  the  dry 
ing  out  of  the  natural  sap  of  their  greenness  in 
the  artificial  heat  of  city  life.  This,  be  it  noticed, 
is  nothing  against  the  drying  and  seasoning 
process  ;  character  must  be  put  into  the  crucible 
some  time,  and  why  not  in  this  world  ?  A  man 


26  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


who  cannot  stand  seasoning  will  not  have  a  high 
market  value  in  any  part  of  the  universe.  It  is 
creditable  to  the  race,  that  so  many  men  and  wo-- 
men  bravely  jump  into  the  furnace  of  prosperity 
and  expose  themselves  to  the  drying  influences 
of  city  life. 

The  first  fire  that  is  lighted  on  the  hearth  in 
the  autumn  seems  to  bring  out  the  cold  weather. 
Deceived  by  the  placid  appearance  of  the  dying 
year,  the  softness  of  the  sky,  and  the  warm  color 
of  foliage,  we  have  been  shivering  about  for  days 
without  exactly  comprehending  what  was  the 
matter.  The  open  fire  at  once  sets  up  a  stand 
ard  of  comparison.  We  find  that  the  advance 
guards  of  winter  are  besieging  the  house.  The 
cold  rushes  in  at  every  crack  of  door  and  win 
dow,  apparently  signalled  by  the  flame  to  invade 
the  house  and  fill  it  with  chilly  drafts  and  sar 
casms  on  what  we  call  the  temperate  zone.  It 
needs  a  roaring  fire  to  beat  back  the  enemy  ;  a 
feeble  one  is  only  an  invitation  to  the  most 
insulting  demonstrations.  Our  pious  New  Eng 
land  ancestors  were  philosophers  in  their  way. 
It  was  not  simply  owing  to  grace  that  they  sat 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  2J 

for  hours  in  their  barn-like  meeting-houses  dur 
ing  the  winter  Sundays,  the  thermometer  many 
degrees  below  freezing,  with  no  fire,  except  the 
zeal  in  their  own  hearts,  —  a  congregation  of  red 
noses  and  bright  eyes.  It  was  no  wonder  that 
the  minister  in  the  pulpit  warmed  up  to  his  sub 
ject,  cried  aloud,  used  hot  words,  spoke  a  good 
deal  of  the  hot  place  and  the  Person  whose  pres 
ence  was  a  burning  shame,  hammered  the  desk 
as  if  he  expected  to  drive  his  text  through  a  two- 
inch  plank,  and  heated  himself  by  all  allowable 
ecclesiastical  gymnastics.  A  few  of  their  follow 
ers  in  our  day  seem  to  forget  that  our  modern 
churches  are  heated  by  furnaces  and  supplied 
with  gas.  In  the  old  days  it  would  have  been 
thought  unphilosophic  as  well  as  effeminate  to 
warm  the  meeting-houses  artificially.  In  one 
house  I  knew,  at  least,  when  it  was  proposed  to 
introduce  a  stove  to  take  a  little  of  the  chill 
from  the  Sunday  services,  the  deacons  protested 
against  the  innovation.  They  said  that  the  stove 
might  benefit  those  who  sat  close  to  it,  but  it 
would  drive  all  the  cold  air  to  the  other  parts 
of  the  church,  and  freeze  the  people  to  death  ;  it 


28  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

was  cold  enough  now  around  the  edges.  Blessed 
days  of  ignorance  and  upright  living  !  Sturdy 
men  who  served  God  by  resolutely  sitting  out 
the  icy  hours  of  service,  amid  the  rattling  of 
windows  and  the  carousal  of  winter  in  the  high, 
wind-swept  galleries !  Patient  women,  waiting 
in  the  chilly  house  for  consumption  to  pick  out 
his  victims,  and  replace  the  color  of  youth  and 
the  flush  of  devotion  with  the  hectic  of  disease  ! 
At  least,  you  did  not  doze  and  droop  in  our  over 
heated  edifices,  and  die  of  vitiated  air  and  dis 
regard  of  the  simplest  conditions  of  organized 
life.  It  is  fortunate  that  each  generation  does 
not  comprehend  its  own  ignorance.  We  are 
thus  enabled  to  call  our  ancestors  barbarous. 
It  is  something  also  that  each  age  has  its  choice 
of  the  death  it  will  die.  Our  generation  is  most 
ingenious.  From  our  public  assembly-rooms 
and  houses  we  have  almost  succeeded  in  ex 
cluding  pure  air.  It  took  the  race  ages  to  build 
dwellings  that  would  keep  out  rain  ;  it  has  taken 
longer  to  build  houses  air-tight,  but  we  are  on 
the  eve  of  success.  We  are  only  foiled  by  the 
ill-fitting,  insincere  work  of  the  builders,  who 
build  for  a  day,  and  charge  for  all  time. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


29 


II. 

WHEN  the  fire  on  the  hearth  has  blazed  up 
and  then  settled  into  steady  radiance,  talk  be 
gins.  There  is  no  place  like  the  chimney-corner 
for  confidences ;  for  picking  up  the  clews  of  an 
old  friendship  ;  for  taking  note  where  one  's  self 
has  drifted,  by  comparing  ideas  and  prejudices 
with  the  intimate  friend  of  years  ago,  whose 
course  in  life  has  lain  apart  from  yours.  No 
stranger  puzzles  you  so  much  as  the  once  close 
friend,  with  whose  thinking  and  associates  you 
have  for  years  been  unfamiliar.  Life  has  come 
to  mean  this  and  that  to  you  ;  you  "have  fallen 
into  certain  habits  of  thought ;  for  you  the  world 
has  progressed  in  this  or  that  direction  ;  of  certain 
results  you  feel  very  sure  ;  you  have  fallen  into 
harmony  with  your  surroundings  ;  you  meet  day 
after  day  people  interested  in  the  things  that 
interest  you  ;  you  are  not  in  the  least  opinion 
ated,  it  is  simply  your  good  fortune  to  look  upon 
the  affairs  of  the  world  from  the  right  point  of 
view.  When  you  last  saw  your  friend,  —  less 


30  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

than  a  year  after  you  left  college,  —  he  was  the 
most  sensible  and  agreeable  of  men  ;  he  had  no 
heterodox  notions  ;  he  agreed  with  you  ;  you 
could  even  tell  what  sort  of  a  wife  he  would 
select,  and  if  you  could  do  that,  you  held  the  key 
to  his  life. 

Well,  Herbert  came  to  visit  me  the  other  day 
from  the  antipodes.  And  here  he  sits  by  the 
fireplace.  I  cannot  think  of  any  one  I  would 
rather  see  there,  —  except  perhaps  Thackeray  ; 
or,  for  entertainment,  Boswell  ;  or  old  Pepys  ;  or 
one  of  the  people  who  was  left  out  of  the  Ark. 
They  were  talking  one  foggy  London  night  at 
Hazlitt's  about  whom  they  would  most  like  to 
have  seen,  when  Charles  Lamb  startled  the  com 
pany  by  declaring  that  he  would  rather  have 
seen  Judas  Iscariot  than  any  other  person  who 
had  lived  on  the  earth.  For  myself,  I  would 
rather  have  seen  Lamb  himself  once,  than  to 
have  lived  with  Judas.  Herbert,  to  my  great 
delight,  has  not  changed  ;  I  should  know  him 
anywhere, — the  same  serious,  contemplative 
face,  with  lurking  humor  at  the  corners  of  the 
mouth,  —  the  same  cheery  laugh  and  clear,  dis- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  31 

tinct  enunciation  as  of  old.  There  is  nothing 
so  winning  as  a  good  voice.  To  see  Herbert 
again,  unchanged  in  all  outward  essentials,  is 
not  only  gratifying,  but  valuable  as  a  testimony 
to  nature's  success  in  holding  on  to  a  personal 
identity,  through  the  entire  change  of  matter 
that  had  been  constantly  taking  place  for  so 
many  years.  I  know  very  well  there  is  here 
no  part  of  the  Herbert  whose  hand  I  had  shaken 
at  the  Commencement  parting ;  but  it  is  an 
astonishing  reproduction  of  him,  —  a  material 
likeness  ;  and  now  for  the  spiritual. 

Such  a  wide  chance  for  divergence  in  the 
spiritual.  It  has  been  such  a  busy  world  for 
twenty  years.  So  many  things  have  been  torn 
up  by  the  roots  again  that  were  settled  when 
we  left  college.  There  were  to  be  no  more 
wars  ;  democracy  was  democracy,  and  progress, 
the  differentiation  of  the  individual,  was  a  mere 
question  of  clothes  ;  if  you  want  to  be  different, 
go  to  your  tailor  ;  nobody  had  demonstrated  that 
there  is  a  man-soul  and  a  woman-soul,  and  that 
each  is  in  reality  only  a  half-soul,  —  putting  the 
race,  so  to  speak,  upon  the  half-shell.  The  social 


32  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

oyster  being  opened,  there  appears  to  be  two 
shells  and  only  one  oyster  ;  who  shall  have  it  ? 
So  many  new  canons  of  taste,  of  criticism,  of 
morality  have  been  set  up  ;  there  has  been  such 
a  resurrection  of  historical  reputations  for  new 
judgment,  and  there  have  been  so  many  discov 
eries,  geographical,  archaeological,  geological,  bio 
logical,  that  the  earth  is  not  at  all  what  it  was 
supposed  to  be  ;  and  our  philosophers  are  much 
more  anxious  to  ascertain  where  we  came  from 
than  whither  we  are  going.  In  this  whirl  and 
turmoil  of  new  ideas,  nature,  which  has  only  the 
single  end  of  maintaining  the  physical  identity 
in  the  body,  works  on  undisturbed,  replacing 
particle  for  particle,  and  preserving  the  likeness 
more  skilfully  than  a  mosaic  artist  in  the  Vati 
can  ;  she  has  not  even  her  materials  sorted  and 
labelled,  as  the  Roman  artist  has  his  thousands 
of  bits  of  color  ;  and  man  is  all  the  while  doing 
his  best  to  confuse  the  process,  by  changing  his 
climate,  his  diet,  all  his  surroundings,  without 
the  least  care  to  remain  himself.  But  the  mind  ? 
It  is  more  difficult  to  get  acquainted  with 
Herbert  than  with  an  entire  stranger,  for  I  have 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  33 

my  prepossessions  about  him,  and  do  not  find 
him  in  so  many  places  where  I  expect  to  find 
him.  He  is  full  of  criticism  of  the  authors  I 
admire ;  he  thinks  stupid  or  improper  the  books 
I  most  read  ;  he  is  sceptical  about  the  "  move 
ments  "  I  am  interested  in  ;  he  has  formed  very 
different  opinions  from  mine  concerning  a  hun 
dred  men  and  women  of  the  present  day  ;  we 
used  to  eat  from  one  dish  ;  we  could  n't  now 
find  anything  in  common  in  a  dozen  ;  his  pre 
judices  (as  we  call  our  opinions)  are  most  ex 
traordinary,  and  not  half  so  reasonable  as  my 
prejudices  ;  there  are  a  great  many  persons  and 
things  that  I  am  accustomed  to  denounce,  un- 
contradicted  by  anybody,  which  he  defends  ;  his 
public  opinion  is  not  at  all  my  public  opinion.  I 
am  sorry  for  him.  He  appears  to  have  fallen  into 
influences  and  among  a  set  of  people  foreign  to  me. 
I  find  that  his  church  has  a  different  steeple  on 
it  from  my  church  (which,  to  say  the  truth, 
has  n't  any).  It  is  a  pity  that  such  a  dear  friend 
and  a  man  of  so  much  promise  should  have 
drifted  off  into  such  general  contrariness.  I  see 
Herbert  sitting  here  by  the  fire,  with  the  old 


34  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

look  in  his  face  coming  out  more  and  more,  but 
I  do  not  recognize  any  features  of  his  mind,  — 
except  perhaps  his  contrariness ;  yes,  he  was 
always  a  little  contrary,  I  think.  And  finally 
he  surprised  me  with,  "-Well,  my  friend,  you 
seem  to  have  drifted  away  from  your  old  no 
tions  and  opinions.  We  used  to  agree  when 
we  were  together,  but  I  sometimes  wondered 
where  you  would  land ;  for,  pardon  me,  you 
showed  signs  of  looking  at  things  a  little  con 
trary." 

I  am  silent  for  a  good  while.  I  am  trying  to 
think  who  I  am.  There  was  a  person  whom  I 
thought  I  knew,  very  fond  of  Herbert,  and  agree 
ing  with  him  in  most  things.  Where  has  he 
gone  ?  and,  if  he  is  here,  where  is  the  Herbert 
that  I  knew  ? 

If  his  intellectual  and  moral  sympathies  have 
all  changed,  I  wonder  if  his  physical  tastes  re 
main,  like  his  appearance,  the  same.  There  has 
come  over  this  country  within  the  last  genera 
tion,  as  everybody  knows,  a  great  wave  of  con 
demnation  of  pie.  It  has  taken  the  character  of 
a  "  movement,"  though  we  have  had  no  conven- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  35 

tions  about  it,  nor  is  any  one,  of  any  of  the 
several  sexes  among  us,  running  for  president 
against  it.  It  is  safe  almost  anywhere  to  de 
nounce  pie,  yet  nearly  everybody  eats  it  on  occa 
sion.  A  great  many  people  think  it  savors  of  a 
life  abroad  to  speak  with  horror  of  pie,  although 
they  were  very  likely  the  foremost  of  the  Ameri 
cans  in  Paris  who  used  to  speak  with  more  en 
thusiasm  of  the  American  pie  at  Madame  Busque's 
than  of  the  Venus  of  Milo.  To  talk  against  pie 
and  still  eat  it  is  snobbish,  of  course  ;  but  snob 
bery,  being  an  aspiring  failing,  is  sometimes  the 
prophecy  of  better  things.  To  affect  dislike  of 
pie  is  something.  We  have  no  statistics  on  the 
subject,  and  cannot  tell  whether  it  is  gaining  or 
losing  in  the  country  at  large.  Its  disappearance 
in  select  circles  is  no  test.  The  amount  of  writ 
ing  against  it  is  no  more  test  of  its  desuetude, 
than  the  number  of  religious  tracts  distributed  in 
a  given  district  is  a  criterion  of  its  piety.  We 
are  apt  to  assume  that  certain  regions  are  sub 
stantially  free  of  it.  Herbert  and  I,  travelling 
north  one  summer,  fancied  that  we  could  draw  in 
New  England  a  sort  of  diet  line,  like  the  sweep- 


36  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

ing  curves  on  the  isothermal  charts,  which  should 
show  at  least  the  leading  pie  sections.  Journey 
ing  towards  the  White  Mountains,  we  concluded 
that  a  line  passing  through  Bellows  Falls,  and 
bending  a  little  south  on  either  side,  would  mark 
northward  the  region  of  perpetual  pie.  In  this 
region  pie  is  to  be  found  at  all  hours  and  seasons, 
and  at  every  meal.  I  am  not  sure,  however,  that 
pie  is  not  a  matter  of  altitude  rather  than  lati 
tude,  as  I  find  that  all  the  hill  and  country  towns 
of  New  England  are  full  of  those  excellent  wo 
men,  the  very  salt  of  the  housekeeping  earth, 
who  would  feel  ready  to  sink  in  mortification 
through  their  scoured  kitchen  floors,  if  visitors 
should  catch  them  without  a  pie  in  the  house. 
The  absence  of  pie  would  be  more  noticed  than 
a  scarcity  of  Bible  even.  Without  it  the  house 
keepers  are  as  distracted  as  the  boarding-house 
keeper,  who  declared  that  if  it  were  not  for 
canned  tomato  she  should  have  nothing  to  fly  to. 
Well,  in  all  this  great  agitation  I  find  Herbert 
unmoved,  a  conservative,  even  to  the  under-crust. 
I  dare  not  ask  him  if  he  eats  pie  at  breakfast. 
There  are  some  tests  that  the  dearest  friendship 
may  not  apply. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES,  37 

"  Will  you  smoke  ? "  I  ask. 

"  No,  I  have  reformed." 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"  The  fact  is,  that  when  we  consider  the  corre 
lation  of  forces,  the  apparent  sympathy  of  spirit 
manifestations  with  electric  conditions,  the  al 
most  revealed  mysteries  of  what  may  be  called 
the  odic  force,  and  the  relation  of  all  these  phe 
nomena  to  the  nervous  system  in  man,  it  is  not 
safe  to  do  anything  to  the  nervous  system  that 
will  —  " 

"  Hang  the  nervous  system  !  Herbert,  we  can 
agree  in  one  thing  :  old  memories,  reveries,  friend 
ships,  centre  about  that:  —  is  n't  an  open  wood 
fire  good  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  Herbert,  combatively,  "  if  you 
don't  sit  before  it  too  long." 


III. 

THE  best  talk  is  that  which  escapes  up  the 
open  chimney  and  cannot  be  repeated.  The 
finest  woods  make  the  best  fire  and  pass  away 
with  the  least  residuum.  I  hope  the  next  gener- 


38  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

ation  will  not  accept  the  reports  of  "  interviews" 
as  specimens  of  the  conversations  of  these  years 
of  grace. 

But  do  we  talk  as  well  as  our  fathers  and 
mothers  did  ?  We  hear  wonderful  stories  of 
the  bright  generation  that  sat  about  the  wide 
fireplaces  of  New  England.  Good  talk  has  so 
much  short-hand  that  it  cannot  be  reported, — 
the  inflection,  the  change  of  voice,  the  shrug,  can 
not  be  caught  on  paper.  The  best  of  it  is  when 
the  subject  unexpectedly  goes  cross-lots,  by  a 
flash  of  short-cut,  to  a  conclusion  so  suddenly 
revealed  that  it  has  the  effect  of  wit.  It  needs 
the  highest  culture  and  the  finest  breeding  to 
prevent  the  conversation  from  running  into  mere 
persiflage  on  the  one  hand  —  its  common  fate  — 
or  monologue  on  the  other.  Our  conversation  is 
largely  chaff.  I  am  not  sure  but  the  former  gen 
eration  preached  a  good  deal,  but  it  had  great 
practice  in  fireside  talk,  and  must  have  talked 
well.  There  were  narrators  in  those  days  who 
could  charm  a  circle  all  the  evening  long  with 
stories.  When  each  day  brought  comparatively 
little  new  to  read,  there  was  leisure  for  talk,  and 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  39 

the  rare  book  and  the  infrequent  magazine  were 
thoroughly  discussed.  Families  now  are  swamped 
by  the  printed  matter  that  comes  daily  upon  the 
centre-table.  There  must  be  a  division  of  labor, 
one  reading  this,  and  another  that,  to  make  any 
impression  on  it.  The  telegraph  brings  the  only 
common  food,  and  works  this  daily  miracle,  that 
every  mind  in  Christendom  is  excited  by  one 
topic  simultaneously  with  every  other  mind ;  it 
enables  a  concurrent  mental  action,  a  burst  of 
sympathy,  or  a  universal  prayer  to  be  made, 
which  must  be,  if  we  have  any  faith  in  the  imma 
terial  left,  one  of  the  chief  forces  in  modern  life. 
It  is  fit  that  an  agent  so  subtle  as  electricity 
should  be  the  minister  of  it. 

When  there  is  so  much  to  read,  there  is  little 
time  for  conversation  ;  nor  is  there  leisure  for 
another  pastime  of  the  ancient  firesides,  called 
reading  aloud.  The  listeners,  who  heard  while 
they  looked  into  the  wide  chimney-place,  saw 
there  pass  in  stately  procession  the  events  and 
the  grand  persons  of  history,  were  kindled  with 
the  delights  of  travel,  touched  by  the  romance  of 
true  love,  or  made  restless  by  tales  of  adventure ; 


4<D  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

— the  hearth  became  a  sort  of  magic  stone  that 
could  transport  those  who  sat  by  it  to  the  most 
distant  places  and  times,  as  soon  as  the  book  was 
opened  and  the  reader  began,  of  a  winter's  night. 
Perhaps  the  Puritan  reader  read  through  his 
nose,  and  all  the  little  Puritans  made  the  most 
dreadful  nasal  inquiries  as  the  entertainment 
went  on.  The  prominent  nose  of  the  intellect 
ual  New-Englander  is  evidence  of  the  constant 
linguistic  exercise  of  the  organ  for  generations. 
It  grew  by  talking  through.  But  I  have  no 
doubt  that  practice  made  good  readers  in  those 
days.  Good  reading  aloud  is  almost  a  lost  accom 
plishment  now.  It  is  little  thought  of  in  the 
schools.  It  is  disused  at  home.  It  is  rare  to  find 
any  one  who  can  read,  even  from  the  newspaper, 
well.  Reading  is  so  universal,  even  with  the 
uncultivated,  that  it  is  common  to  hear  people 
mispronounce  words  that  you  did  not  suppose 
they  had  ever  seen.  In  reading  to  themselves 
they  glide  over  these  words,  in  reading  aloud 
they  stumble  over  them.  Besides,  our  every 
day  books  and  newspapers  are  so  larded  with 
French  that  the  ordinary  reader  is  obliged  mar 
cher  a  pas  ae  lonp,  —  for  instance. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  41 

The  newspaper  is  probably  responsible  for 
making  current  many  words  with  which  the 
general  reader  is  familiar,  but  which  he  rises 
to  in  the  flow  of  conversation,  and  strikes  at 
with  a  splash  and  an  unsuccessful  attempt  at 
appropriation ;  the  word,  which  he  perfectly 
knows,  hooks  him  in  the  gills,  and  he  cannot 
master  it.  The  newspaper  is  thus  widening 
the  language  in  use,  and  vastly  increasing  the 
number  of  words  which  enter  into  common 
talk.  The  Americans  of  the  lowest  intellect 
ual  class  probably  use  more  words  to  express 
their  ideas  than  the  similar  class  of  any  other 
people  ;  but  this  prodigality  is  partially  bal 
anced  by  the  parsimony  of  words  in  some 
higher  regions,  in  which  a  few  phrases  of  cur 
rent  slang  are  made  to  do  the  whole  duty  of 
exchange  of  ideas  ;  if  that  can  be  called  exchange 
of  ideas  when  one  intellect  flashes  forth  to  an 
other  the  remark,  concerning  some  report,  that 
"  you  know  how  it  is  yourself,"  and  is  met  by 
the  response  of  "  that  's  what 's  the  matter,"  and 
rejoins  with  the  perfectly  conclusive  "that  's  so." 
It  requires  a  high  degree  of  culture  to  use  slang 


42  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


with  elegance  and  effect  ;  and  we  are  yet  very  far 
from  the  Greek  attainment. 


IV. 

THE  fireplace  wants  to  be  all  aglow,  the  wind 
rising,  the  night  heavy  and  black  above,  but 
light  with  sifting  snow  on  the  earth,  —  a  back 
ground  of  inclemency  for  the  illumined  room 
with  its  pictured  walls,  tables  heaped  with  books, 
capacious  easy-chairs  and  their  occupants,  —  it 
needs,  I  say,  to  glow  and  throw  its  rays  far 
through  the  crystal  of  the  broad  windows,  in 
order  that  we  may  rightly  appreciate  the  relation 
of  the  wide-jambed  chimney  to  domestic  architect 
ure  in  our  climate.  We  fell  to  talking  about  it ; 
and,  as  is  usual  when  the  conversation  is  profess 
edly  on  one  subject,  we  wandered  all  around  it. 
The  young  lady  staying  with  us  was  roasting 
chestnuts  in  the  ashes,  and  the  frequent  explo 
sions  required  considerable  attention.  The  mis 
tress,  too,  sat  somewhat  alert,  ready  to  rise  at  any 
instant  and  minister  to  the  fancied  want  of  this 
or  that  guest,  forgetting  the  reposeful  truth  that 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


43 


people  about  a  fireside  will  not  have  any  wants 
if  they  are  not  suggested.  The  worst  of  them, 
if  they  desire  anything,  only  want  something  hot, 
and  that  later  in  the  evening.  And  it  is  an  open 
question  whether  you  ought  to  associate  with 
people  who  want  that. 

I  was  saying  that  nothing  had  been  so  slow  in 
its  progress  in  the  world  as  domestic  architecture. 
Temples,  palaces,  bridges,  aqueducts,  cathedrals, 
towers  of  marvellous  delicacy  and  strength,  grew  to 
perfection  while  the  common  people  lived  in  hovels, 
and  the  richest  lodged  in  the  most  gloomy  and  con 
tracted  quarters.  The  dwelling-house  is  a  modern 
institution.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  it  has  only 
improved  with  the  social  elevation  of  women. 
Men  were  never  more  brilliant  in  arms  and  letters 
than  in  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  and  yet  they  had  no  . 
homes.  They  made  themselves  thick-walled  cas 
tles,  with  slits  in  the  masonry  for  windows,  for 
defence,  and  magnificent  banquet-halls  for  pleas 
ure  ;  the  stone  rooms  into  which  they  crawled 
for  the  night  were  often  little  better  than  dog- 
kennels.  The  Pompeians  had  no  comfortable 
night-quarters.  The  most  singular  thing  to  me, 


44  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

however,  is  that,  especially  interested  as  woman 
is  in  the  house,  she  has  never  done  anything  for 
architecture.  And  yet  woman  is  reputed  to  be 
an  ingenious  creature. 

HERBERT.  I  doubt  if  woman  has  real  inge 
nuity  ;  she  has  great  adaptability.  I  don't  say 
that  she  will  do  the  same  thing  twice  alike,  like  a 
Chinaman,  but  she  is  most  cunning  in  suiting 
herself  to  circumstances. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  O,  if  you  speak  of  con 
structive,  creative  ingenuity,  perhaps  not  ;  but 
in  the  higher  ranges  of  achievement — that  of 
accomplishing  any  purpose  dear  to  her  heart, 
for  instance  —  her  ingenuity  is  simply  incompre 
hensible  to  me. 

HERBERT.  Yes,  if  you  mean  doing  things  by 
indirection. 

THE  MISTRESS.  When  you  men  assume  all 
the  direction,  what  else  is  left  to  us  ? 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Did  you  ever  see  a  wo 
man  refurnish  a  house  ? 

THE  YOUNG  LADY  STAYING  WITH  Us.  I  never 
saw  a  man  do  it,  unless  he  was  burned  out  of  his 
rookery. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  45 

HERBERT.     There  is  no  comfort  in  new  things. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER  (not  noticing  the  inter 
ruption).  Having  set  her  mind  on  a  total  revo 
lution  of  the  house,  she  buys  one  new  thing,  not 
too  obtrusive,  nor  much  out  of  harmony  with  the 
old.  The  husband  scarcely  notices  it,  least  of  all 
does  he  suspect  the  revolution,  which  she  already 
has  accomplished.  Next,  some  article  that  does 
look  a  little  shabby  beside  the  new  piece  of 
furniture  is  sent  to  the  garret,  and  its  place  is 
supplied  by  something  that  will  match  in  color 
and  effect.  Even  the  man  can  see  that  it  ought 
to  match,  and  so  the  process  goes  on,  it  may  be 
for  years,  it  may  be  forever,  until  nothing  of  the 
old  is  left,  and  the  house  is  transformed  as  it  was 
predetermined  in  the  woman's  mind.  I  doubt  if 
the  man  ever  understands  how  or  when  it  was 
done  ;  his  wife  certainly  never  says  anything 
about  the  refurnishing,  but  quietly  goes  on  to 
new  conquests. 

THE  MISTRESS.  And  is  n't  it  better  to  buy 
little  by  little,  enjoying  every  new  object  as  you 
get  it,  and  assimilating  each  article  to  your 
household  life,  and  making  the  home  a  har- 


46  'BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

monious  expression  of  your  own  taste,  rather 
than  to  order  things  in  sets,  and  turn  your 
house,  for  the  time  being,  into  a  furniture  ware- 
room  ? 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  O,  I  only  spoke  of  the 
ingenuity  of  it. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  For  my  part,  I  never  can 
get  acquainted  with  more  than  one  piece  of  fur 
niture  at  a  time. 

HERBERT.  I  suppose  women  are  our  superiors 
in  artistic  taste,  and  I  fancy  that  I  can  tell 
whether  a  house  is  furnished  by  a  woman  or  a 
man  ;  of  course,  I  mean  the  few  houses  that  ap 
pear  to  be  the  result  of  individual  taste  and  refine 
ment, —  most  of  them  look  as  if  they  had  been 
furnished  on  contract  by  the  upholsterer. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Woman's  province  in  this 
world  is  putting  things  to  rights. 

HERBERT.  With  a  vengeance,  sometimes.  In 
the  study,  for  example.  My  chief  objection  to 
woman  is  that  she  has  no  respect  for  the  news 
paper,  or  the  printed  page,  as  such.  She  is  Siva, 
the  destroyer.  I  have  noticed  that  a  great  part 
of  a  married  man's  time  at  home  is  spent  in  try- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  47 

ing  to  find  the  things  he  has  put  on  his  study- 
table. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  Herbert  speaks  with  the 
bitterness  of  a  bachelor  shut  out  of  paradise.  It 
is  my  experience  that  if  women  did  not  destroy 
the  rubbish  that  men  bring  into  the  house,  it 
would  become  uninhabitable,  and  need  to  be 
burned  down  every  five  years. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  I  confess  women  do  a 
great  deal  for  the  appearance  of  things.  When 
the  mistress  is  absent,  this  room,  although  every 
thing  is  here  as  it  was  before,  does  not  look  at  all 
like  the  same  place  ;  it  is  stiff,  and  seems  to  lack 
a  soul.  When  she  returns,  I  can  see  that  her 
eye,  even  while  greeting  me,  takes  in  the  situa 
tion  at  a  glance.  While  she  is  talking  of  the 
journey,  and  before  she  has  removed  her  travelling- 
hat,  she  turns  this  chair  and  moves  that,  sets  one 
piece  of  furniture  at  a  different  angle,  rapidly, 
and  apparently  unconsciously,  shifts  a  dozen 
little  knick-knacks  and  bits  of  color,  and  the  room 
is  transformed.  I  could  n't  do  it  in  a  week. 

THE  MISTRESS.  That  is  the  first  time  I  ever 
knew  a  man  admit  he  could  n't  do  anything  if  he 
had  time. 


48  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

HERBERT.  Yet  with  all  her  peculiar  instinct 
for  making  a  home,  women  make  themselves 
very  little  felt  in  our  domestic  architecture. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Men  build  most  of  the  houses 
in  what  might  be  called  the  ready-made-clothing 
style,  and  we  have  to  do  the  best  we  can  with 
them  ;  and  hard  enough  it  is  to  make  cheerful 
homes  in  most  of  them.  You  will  see  something 
different  when  the  woman  is  constantly  consulted 
in  the  plan  of  the  house. 

HERBERT.  We  might  see  more  difference  if 
women  would  give  any  attention  to  architecture. 
Why  are  there  no  women  architects? 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Want  of  the  ballot,  doubt 
less.  It  seems  to  me  that  here  is  a  splendid 
opportunity  for  woman  to  come  to  the  front. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  They  have  no  desire  to 
come  to  the  front ;  they  would  rather  manage 
things  where  they  are. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  If  they  would  master  the 
noble  art,  and  put  their  brooding  taste  upon  it, 
we  might  very  likely  compass  something  in  our 
domestic  architecture  that  we  have  not  yet  at 
tained.  The  outside  of  our  houses  needs  atten- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  49 


tion  as  well  as  the  inside.  Most  of  them  are  as 
ugly  as  money  can  build. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  What  vexes  me  most  is, 
that  women,  married  women,  have  so  easily  con 
sented  to  give  up  open  fires  in  their  houses. 

HERBERT.  They  dislike  the  dust  and  the 
bother.  I  think  that  women  rather  like  the 
confined  furnace  heat. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Nonsense;  it  is  their  an 
gelic  virtue  of  submission.  We  would  n't  be  hired 
to  stay  all  day  in  the  houses  we  build. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  That  has  a  very  chival 
rous  sound,  but  I' know  there  will  be  no  reforma 
tion  until  women  rebel  and  demand  everywhere 
the  open  fire. 

HERBERT.  They  are  just  now  rebelling  about 
something  else  ;  it  seems  to  me  yours  is  a  sort 
of  counter-movement,  a  fire  in  the  rear. 

THE  MISTRESS.  I '11  join  that  movement.  The 
time  has  come  when  woman  must  strike  for  her 
altars  and  her  fires. 

HERBERT.     Hear,  hear! 

THE  MISTRESS.  Thank  you,  Herbert.  I  ap 
plauded  you  once,  when  you  declaimed  that 


50  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

years  ago  in  the  old  Academy.  I  remember 
how  eloquently  you  did  it. 

HERBERT.     Yes,  I  was  once  a  spouting  idiot. 

Just  then  the  door-bell  rang,  and  company 
came  in.  And  the  company  brought  in  a  new 
atmosphere,  as  company  always  does,  —  some 
thing  of  the  disturbance  of  out-doors,  and  a  good 
deal  of  its  healthy  cheer.  The  direct  news  that 
the  thermometer  was  approaching  zero,  with  a 
hopeful  prospect  of  going  below  it,  increased  to 
liveliness  our  satisfaction  in  the  fire.  When  the 
cider  was  heated  in  the  brown  stone  pitcher, 
there  was  difference  of  opinion  whether  there 
should  be  toast  in  it  ;  some  were  for  toast, 
because  that  was  the  old-fashioned  way,  and 
others  were  against  it,  "because  it  does  not  taste 
good"  in  cider.  Herbert  said  there  was  very 
little  respect  left  for  our  forefathers. 

More  wood  was  put  on,  and  the  flame  danced 
in  a  hundred  fantastic  shapes.  The  snow  had 
ceased  to  fall,  and  the  moonlight  lay  in  silvery 
patches  among  the  trees  in  the  ravine.  The  con 
versation  became  worldly. 


;ERBERT  said,  as  we  sat  by  the  fire 
one  night,  that  he  wished  he  had 
^  turned  his  attention  to  writing  poe 
try  like  Tennyson's. 
The  remark  was  not  whimsical,  but  satirical. 
Tennyson  is  a  man  of  talent,  who  happened  to 
strike  a  lucky  vein,  which  he  has  worked  with 
cleverness.  The  adventurer  with  a  pick-axe  in 
Washoe  may  happen  upon  like  good  fortune. 
The  world  is  full  of  poetry  as  the  earth  is  of 
"pay-dirt";  one  only  needs  to  know  how  to 
"  strike "  it.  An  able  man  can  make  himself 
almost  anything  that  he  will.  It  is  melancholy 
to  think  how  many  epic  poets  have  been  lost 
in  the  tea-trade,  how  many  dramatists  (though 


52  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

the  age  of  the  drama  has  passed),  have  wasted 
their  genius  in  great  mercantile  and  mechanical 
enterprises.  I  know  a  man  who  might  have 
been  the  poet,  the  essayist,  perhaps  the  critic,  of 
this  country,  who  chose  to  become  a  county 
judge,  to  sit  day  after  day  upon  a  bench  in  an 
obscure  corner  of  the  world,  listening  to  wrang 
ling  lawyers  and  prevaricating  witnesses,  prefer 
ring  to  judge  his  fellow-men  rather  than  enlighten 
them. 

It  is  fortunate  for  the  vanity  of  the  living  and 
the  reputation  of  the  dead,  that  men  get  almost 
as  much  credit  for  what  they  do  not  as  for  what 
they  do.  It  was  the  opinion  of  many  that  Burns 
might  have  excelled  as  a  statesman,  or  have  been 
a  great  captain  in  war;  and  Mr.  Carlyle  says 
that  if  he  had  been  sent  to  a  university,  and 
become  a  trained  intellectual  workman,  it  lay  in 
him  to  have  changed  the  whole  course  of  British 
literature !  A  large  undertaking,  as  so  vigorous 
and  dazzling  a  writer  as  Mr.  Carlyle  must  know 
by  this  time,  since  British  literature  has  swept 
by  him  in  a  resistless  and  widening  flood,  mainly 
uncontaminated,  and  leaving  his  grotesque  con- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  53 

trivances  wrecked  on  the  shore  with  other  curios 
ities  of  letters,  and  yet  among  the  richest  of  all 
the  treasures  lying  there. 

It  is  a  temptation  to  a  temperate  man  to 
become  a  sot,  to  hear  what  talent, .  what  versa 
tility,  what  genius,  is  almost  always  attributed  to 
a  moderately  bright  man  who  is  habitually  drunk. 
Such  a  mechanic,  such  a  mathematician,  such  a 
poet  he  would  be  if  he  were  only  sober;  and  then 
he  is  sure  to  be  the  most  generous,  magnani 
mous,  friendly  soul,  conscientiously  honorable,  if 
he  were  not  so  conscientiously  drunk.  I  sup 
pose  it  is  now  notorious  that  the  most  brilliant 
and  promising  men  have  been  lost  to  the  world 
in  this  way.  It  is  sometimes  almost  painful  to 
think  what  a  surplus  of  talent  and  genius  there 
would  be  in  the  world  if  the  habit  of  intoxication 
should  suddenly  cease  ;  and  what  a  slim  chance 
there  would  be  for  the  plodding  people  who  have 
always  had  tolerably  good  habits.  The  fear  is 
only  mitigated  by  the  observation  that  the  repu 
tation  of  a  person  for  great  talent  sometimes 
ceases  with  his  reformation. 

It  is  believed  by  some  that  the  maidens  who 


54  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

would  make  the  best  wives  never  marry,  but 
remain  free  to  bless  the  world  with  their  im 
partial  sweetness,  and  make  it  generally  habit 
able.  This  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  Providence 
and  New  England  life.  It  seems  a  pity,  at  first 
sight,  that  all  those  who  become  poor  wives  have 
the  matrimonial  chance,  and  that  they  are  de 
prived  of  the  reputation  of  those  who  would  be 
good  wives  were  they  not  set  apart  for  the  high 
and  perpetual  office  of  priestesses  of  society. 
There  is  no  beauty  like  that  which  was  spoiled 
by  an  accident,  no  accomplishments  and  graces 
are  so  to  be  envied  as  those  that  circumstances 
rudely  hindered ^  the  development  of.  All  of 
which  shows  what  a  charitable  and  good-tem 
pered  world  it  is,  notwithstanding  its  reputa 
tion  for  cynicism  and  detraction. 

Nothing  is  more  beautiful  than  the  belief  of 
the  faithful  wife  that  her  husband  has  all  the 
talents,  and  could,  if  he  would,  be  distinguished 
in  any  walk  in  life  ;  and  nothing  will  be  more 
beautiful  —  unless  this  is  a  very  dry  time  for 
signs  —  than  the  husband's  belief  that  his  wife 
is  capable  of  taking  charge  of  any  of  the  affairs 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  55 

of  this  confused  planet.  There  is  no  woman  but 
thinks  that  her  husband,  the  green-grocer,  could 
write  poetry  if  he  had  given  his  mind  to  it,  or 
else  she  thinks  small  beer  of  poetry  in  com 
parison  with  an  occupation  or  accomplishment 
purely  vegetable.  It  is  touching  to  see  the  look 
of  pride  with  which  the  wife  turns  to  her  husband 
from  any  more  brilliant  personal  presence  or  dis 
play  of  wit  than  his,  in  the  perfect  confidence 
that  if  the  world  knew  what  she  knows  there 
would  be  one  more  popular  idol.  How  she  mag 
nifies  his  small  wit,  and  dotes  upon  the  self-satis 
fied  look  in  his  face  as  if  it  were  a  sign  of  wis 
dom  !  What  a  councillor  that  man  would  make  ! 
What  a  warrior  he  would  be !  There  are  a  great 
many  corporals  in  their  retired  homes  who  did 
more  for  the  safety  and  success  of  our  armies 
in  critical  moments,  in  the  late  war,  than  any 
of  the  "high-cock-a-lorum"  commanders.  Mrs. 
Corporal  does  not  envy  the  reputation  of  General 
Sheridan  ;  she  knows  very  well  who  really  won 
Five  Forks,  for  she  has  heard  the  story  a  hun 
dred  times,  and  will  hear  it  a  hundred  times 
more  with  apparently  unabated  interest.  What 


56  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

a  general  her  husband  would  have  made  ;  and 
how  his  talking  talent  would  shine  in  Congress  ! 

HERBERT.  Nonsense.  There  is  n't  a  wife  in 
the  world  who  has  not  taken  the  exact  measure  of 
her  husband,  weighed  him  and  settled  him  in  her 
own  mind,  and  knows  him  as  well  as  if  she  had 
ordered  him  after  designs  and  specifications  of 
her  own.  That  knowledge,  however,  she  ordina 
rily  keeps  to  herself,  and  she  enters  into  a  league 
with  her  husband,  which  he  was  never  admitted 
to  the  secret  of,  to  impose  upon  the  world.  In 
nine  out  of  ten  cases  he  more  than  half  believes 
that  he  is  what  his  wife  tells  him  he  is.  At  any 
rate  she  manages  him  as  easily  as  the  keeper  does 
the  elephant,  with  only  a  bamboo  wand  and  a 
sharp  spike  in  the  end.  Usually  she  flatters  him, 
but  she  has  the  means  of  pricking  clear  through 
his  hide  on  occasion.  It  is  the  great  secret  of 
her  power  to  have  him  think  that  she  thoroughly 
believes  in  him. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY  STAYING  WITH  Us.  And 
you  call  this  hypocrisy  ?  I  have  heard  authors, 
who  thought  themselves  sly  observers  of  women, 
call  it  so. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  57 

HERBERT.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  It  is  the  basis 
on  which  society  rests,  the  conventional  agree 
ment.  If  society  is  about  to  be  overturned,  it  is 
on  this  point.  Women  are  beginning  to  tell  men 
what  they  really  think  of  them  ;  and  to  insist 
that  the  same  relations  of  downright  sincerity 
and  independence  that  exist  between  men  shall 
exist  between  women  and  men.  Absolute  truth 
between  souls,  without  regard  to  sex,  has  always 
been  the  ideal  life  of  the  poets. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Yes  ;  but  there  was  never  a 
poet  yet  who  would  bear  to  have  his  wife  say 
exactly  what  she  thought  of  his  poetry,  any  more 
than  he  would  keep  his  temper  if  his  wife  beat 
him  at  chess  ;  and  there  is  nothing  that  disgusts 
a  man  like  getting  beaten  at  chess  by  a  woman. 

HERBERT.  Well,  women  know  how  to  win  by 
losing.  I  think  that  the  reason  why  most  women 
do  not  want  to  take  the  ballot  and  stand  out  in 
the  open  for  a  free  trial  of  power,  is  that  they  are 
reluctant  to  change  the  certain  domination  of 
centuries,  with  weapons  they  are  perfectly  com 
petent  to  handle,  for  an  experiment.  I  think  we 
should  be  better  off  if  women  were  more  trans- 


58  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

parent,  and  men  were  not  so  systematically  puffed 
up  by  the  subtle  flattery  which  is  used  to  control 
them. 

MANDEVILLE.  Deliver  me  from  transparency. 
When  a  woman  takes  that  guise,  and  begins  to 
convince  me  that  I  can  see  through  her  like  a  ray 
of  light,  I  must  run  or  be  lost.  Transparent  wo 
men  are  the  truly  dangerous.  There  was  one  on 
ship-board  [Mandeville  likes  to  say  that ;  he  has 
just  returned  from  a  little  tour  in  Europe,  and  he 
quite  often  begins  his  remarks  with  "  on  the  ship 
going  over"  ;  the  Young  Lady  declares  that  he 
has  a  sort  of  roll  in  his  chair,  when  he  says  it, 
that  makes  her  sea-sick]  who  was  the  most  inno 
cent,  artless,  guileless,  natural  bunch  of  lace  and 
feathers  you  ever  saw ;  she  was  all  candor  and 
helplessness  and  dependence ;  she  sang  like  a 
nightingale,  and  talked  like  a  nun.  There  never 
was  such  simplicity.  There  was  n't  a  sounding- 
line  on  board  that  would  have  gone  to  the 
bottom  of  her  soulful  eyes.  But  she  managed  the 
captain  and  all  the  officers,  and  controlled  the 
ship  as  if  she  had  been  the  helm.  All  the  pas 
sengers  were  waiting  on  her,  fetching  this  and 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  59 

that  for  her  comfort,  inquiring  of  her  health,  talk 
ing  about  her  genuineness,  and  exhibiting  as 
much  anxiety  to  get  her  ashore  in  safety,  as  if 
she  had  been  about  to  knight  them  all  and  give 
them  a  castle  apiece  when  they  came  to  land. 

THE  MISTRESS.  What  harm  ?  It  shows  what 
I  have  always  said,  that  the  service  of  a  noble 
woman  is  the  most  ennobling  influence  for  men. 

MANDEVILLE.  If  she  is  noble,  and  not  a  mere 
manager.  I  watched  this  woman  to  see  if  she 
would  ever  do  anything  for  any  one  else.  She 
never  did. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Did  you  ever  see  her 
again  ?  I  presume  Mandeville  has  introduced 
her  here  for  some  purpose. 

MANDEVILLE.  No  purpose.  But  we  did  see 
her  on  the  Rhine  ;  she  was  the  most  disgusted 
traveller,  and  seemed  to  be  in  very  ill  humor  with 
her  maid.  I  judged  that  her  happiness  depended 
upon  establishing  controlling  relations  with  all 
about  her.  On  this  Rhine  boat,  to  be  sure,  there 
was  reason  for  disgust.  And  that  reminds  me  of 
a  remark  that  was  made. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.     Oh! 


6O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

MANDEVILLE.  When  we  got  aboard  at  May- 
ence  we  were  conscious  of  a  dreadful  odor  some 
where  ;  as  it  was  a  foggy  morning,  we  could  see 
no  cause  of  it,  but  concluded  it  was  from  some 
thing  on  the  wharf.  The  fog  lifted,  and  we  got 
under  way,  but  the  odor  travelled  with  us,  and 
increased.  We  went  to  every  part  of  the  vessel 
to  avoid  it,  but  in  vain.  It  occasionally  reached 
us  in  great  waves  of  disagreeableness.  We  had 
heard  of  the  odors  of  the  towns  on  the  Rhine, 
but  we  had  no  idea  that  the  entire  stream  was 
infected.  It  was  intolerable. 

The  day  was  lovely,  and  the  passengers  stood 
about  on  deck  holding  their  noses  and  admir 
ing  the  scenery.  You  might  see  a  row  of  them 
leaning  over  the  side,  gazing  up  at  some  old 
ruin  or  ivied  crag,  entranced  with  the  romance 
of  the  situation,  and  all  holding  their  noses  with 
thumb  and  finger.  The  sweet  Rhine  !  By  and 
by  somebody  discovered  that  the  odor  came  from 
a  pile  of  cheese  on  the  forward  deck,  covered 
with  a  canvas  ;  it  seemed  that  the  Rhinelanders 
are  so  fond  of  it  that  they  take  it  with  them 
when  they  travel.  If  there  should  ever  be  war 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  6 1 

between  us  and  Germany,  the  borders  of  the 
Rhine  would  need  no  other  defence  from  Ameri 
can  soldiers  than  a  barricade  of  this  cheese.  I 
went  to  the  stern  of  the  steamboat  to  tell  a  stout 
American  traveller  what  was  the  origin  of  the 
odor  he  had  been  trying  to  dodge  all  the  morn 
ing.  He  looked  more  disgusted  than  before 
when  he  heard  that  it  was  cheese  ;  but  his  only 
reply  was  :  "  It  must  be  a  merciful  God  who  can 
forgive  a  smell  like  that ! " 

II. 

THE  above  is  introduced  here  in  order  to  illus 
trate  the  usual  effect  of  an  anecdote  on  conversa 
tion.  Commonly  it  kills  it.  That  talk  must  be 
very  well  in  hand,  and  under  great  headway,  that 
an  anecdote  thrown  in  front  of  will  not  pitch  off 
the  track  and  wreck:  And  it  makes  little  differ 
ence  what  the  anecdote  is  ;  a  poor  one  depresses 
the  spirits,  and  casts  a  gloom  over  the  company  ; 
a  good  one  begets  others,  and  the  talkers  go  to 
telling  stories;  which  is  very  good  entertainment 
in  moderation,  but  is  not  to  be  mistaken  for  that 


62  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

unwearying  flow  of  argument,  quaint  remark, 
humorous  color,  and  sprightly  interchange  of 
sentiments  and  opinions,  called  conversation. 

The  reader  will  perceive  that  all  hope  is  gone 
here  of  deciding  whether  Herbert  could  have 
written  Tennyson's  poems,  or  whether  Tennyson 
could  have  dug  as  much  money  out  of  the  Helio- 
gabulas  Lode  as  Herbert  did.  The  more  one 
sees  of  life.  I  think  the  impression  deepens  that 
men,  after  all,  play  about  the  parts  assigned 
them,  according  to  their  mental  and  moral  gifts, 
which  are  limited  and  preordained,  and  that  their 
entrances  and  exits  are  governed  by  a  law  no  less 
certain  because  it  is  hidden.  Perhaps  nobody 
ever  accomplishes  all  that  he  feels  lies  in  him  to 
do  ;  but  nearly  every  one  who  tries  his  powers 
touches  the  walls  of  his  being  occasionally,  and 
learns  about  how  far  to  attempt  to  spring.  There 
are  no  impossibilities  to  youth  and  inexperience  ; 
but  when  a  person  has  tried  several  times  to 
reach  high  C  and  been  coughed  down,  he  is  quite 
content  to  go  down  among  the  chorus.  It  is 
only  the  fools  who  keep  straining  at  high  C  all 
their  lives. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  63 

Mandeville  here  began  to  say  that  that  re 
minded  him  of  something  that  happened  when 
he  was  on  the  — 

But  Herbert  cut  in  with  the  observation 
that  no  matter  what  a  man's  single  and  several 
capacities  and  talents  might  be,  he  is  controlled 
by  his  own  mysterious  individuality,  which  is 
what  metaphysicians  call  the  substance,  all  else 
being  the  mere  accidents  of  the  man.  And  this 
is  the  reason  that  we  cannot  with  any  certainty 
tell  what  any  person  will  do  or  amount  to,  for, 
while  we  know  his  talents  and  abilities,  we  do  not 
know  the  resulting  whole,  which  is  he  himself. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  So  if  you  could  take  all 
the  first-class  qualities  that  we  admire  in  men 
and  women,  and  put  them  together  into  one 
being,  you  would  n't  be  sure  of  the  result  ? 

HERBERT.  Certainly  not.  You  would  proba 
bly  have  a  monster.  It  takes  a  cook  of  long 
experience,  with  the  best  materials,  to  make  a 
dish  "  taste  good  "  ;  and  the  "  taste  good  "  is  the 
indefinable  essence,  the  resulting  balance  or 
harmony  which  makes  man  or  woman  agreeable 
or  beautiful  or  effective  in  the  world. 


64  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  That  must  be  the  reason 
why  novelists  fail  so  lamentably  in  almost  all 
cases  in  creating  good  characters.  They  put  in 
real  traits,  talents,  dispositions,  but  the  result  of 
the  synthesis  is  something  that  never  was  seen 
on  earth  before. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  O,  a  good  character  in 
fiction  is  an  inspiration.  We  admit  this  in 
poetry.  It  is  as  true  of  such  creations  as 
Colonel  Newcomb,  and  Ethel,  and  Beatrix 
Esmond.  There  is  no  patchwork  about  them. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  Why  was  n't  Thackeray 
ever  inspired  to  create  a  noble  woman  ? 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  That  is  the  standing 
conundrum  with  all  the  women.  They  will 
not  accept  Ethel  Newcomb  even.  Perhaps  we 
shall  have  to  admit  that  Thackeray  was  a  writer 
for  men. 

HERBERT.  Scott  and  the  rest  had  drawn  so 
many  perfect  women  that  Thackeray  thought  it 
was  time  for  a  real  one. 

THE  MISTRESS.  That's  ill-natured.  Thack 
eray  did,  however,  make  ladies.  If  he  had  de 
picted,  with  his  searching  pen,  any  of  us  just 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  65 

as  we  are,  I  doubt  if  we  should  have  liked  it 
much. 

MANDEVILLE.  That's  just  it.  Thackeray 
never  pretended  to  make  ideals,  and  if  the  best 
novel  is  an  idealization  of  human  nature,  then 
he  was  not  the  best  novelist.  When  I  was 
crossing  the  Channel  — 

THE  MISTRESS.  O  dear,  if  we  are  to  go  to 
sea  again,  Mandeville,  I  move  we  have  in  the 
nuts  and  apples,  and  talk  about  our  friends. 


III. 

THERE  is  this  advantage  in  getting  back  to 
a  wood  fire  on  the  hearth,  that  you  return  to  a 
kind  of  simplicity ;  you  can  scarcely  imagine 
any  one  being  stiffly  conventional  in  front  of  it. 
It  thaws  out  formality,  and  puts  the  company 
who  sit  around  it  into  easy  attitudes  of  mind 
and  body,  —  lounging  attitudes,  Herbert  said. 

And  this  brought  up  the  subject  of  culture  in 
America,  especially  as  to  manner.  The  back 
log  period  having  passed,  we  are  beginning  to 
have  in  society  people  of  the  cultured  manner, 


66  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


as  it  is  called,  or  polished  bearing,  in  which  the 
polish  is  the  most  noticeable  thing  about  the 
man.  Not  the  courtliness,  the  easy  simplicity 
of  the  old-school  gentleman,  in  whose  presence 
the  milkmaid  was  as  much  at  her  ease  as  the 
countess,  but  something  far  finer  than  this. 
These  are  the  people  of  unruffled  demeanor, 
who  never  forget  it  for  a  moment,  and  never  let 
you  forget  it.  Their  presence  is  a  constant  re 
buke  to  society.  They  are  never  "jolly"  ;  their 
laugh  is  never  anything  more  than  a  well-bred 
smile  ;  they  are  never  betrayed  into  any  enthu 
siasm.  Enthusiasm  is  a  sign  of  inexperience, 
of  ignorance,  of  want  of  culture.  They  never 
lose  themselves  in  any  cause  ;  they  never  heart 
ily  praise  any  man  or  woman  or  book  ;  they  are 
superior  to  all  tides  of  feeling  and  all  outbursts 
of  passion.  They  are  not  even. shocked  at  vul 
garity.  They  are  simply  indifferent.  They  are 
calm,  visibly  calm,  painfully  calm  ;  and  it  is  not 
the  eternal,  majestic  calmness  of  the  Sphinx 
either,  but  a  rigid,  self-conscious  repression. 
You  would  like  to  put  a  bent  pin  in  their  chair 
when  they  are  about  calmly  to  sit  down. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  67 

A  sitting  hen  on  her  nest  is  calm,  but  hope 
ful  ;  she  has  faith  that  her  eggs  are  not  china. 
These  people  appear  to  be  sitting  on  china  eggs. 
Perfect  culture  has  refined  all  blood,  warmth, 
flavor,  out  of  them.  We  admire  them  without 
envy.  They  are  too  beautiful  in  their  manners 
to  be  either  prigs  or  snobs.  They  are  at  once 
our  models  and  our  despair.  They  are  properly 
careful  of  themselves  as  models,  for  they  know 
that  if  they  should  break,  society  would  become 
a  scene  of  mere  animal  confusion. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  think  that  the  best-bred  peo 
ple  in  the  world  are  the  English. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.     You  mean  at  home. 

MANDEVILLE.  That's  where  I  saw  them.* 
There  is  no  nonsense  about  a  cultivated  English 
•man  or  woman.  They  express  themselves  stur 
dily  and  naturally,  and  with  no  subservience  to 
the  opinions  of  others.  There  's  a  sort  of  hearty 
sincerity  about  them  that  I  like.  Ages  of  cul 
ture  on  the  island  have  gone  deeper  than  the 
surface,  and  they  have  simpler  and  more  natural 

*  Mandeville  once  spent  a  week  in  London,  riding  about  on 
the  tops  of  omnibuses. 


68  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

manners  than  we.  There  is  something  good  in 
the  full,  round  tones  of  their  voices. 

HERBERT.  Did  you  ever  get  into  a  diligence 
with  a  growling  Englishman  who  had  n't  secured 
the  place  he  wanted  ? 

THE  MISTRESS.  Did  you  ever  see  an  English 
exquisite  at  the  San  Carlo,  and  hear  him  cry 
"  Bwavo  "  ? 

MANDEVILLE.  At  any  rate,  he  acted  out  his 
nature,  and  was  n't  afraid  to. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  I  think  Mandeville  is 
right,  for  once.  The  men  of  the  best  culture  in 
England,  in  the  middle  and  higher  social  classes, 
are  what  you  would  call  good  fellows,  —  easy 
and  simple  in  manner,  enthusiastic  on  occasion, 
and  decidedly  not  cultivated  into  the  smooth 
calmness  of  indifference  which  some  Americans 
seem  to  regard  as  the  sine  qua  non  of  good 
breeding.  Their  position  is  so  assured  that  they 
do  not  need  that  lacquer  of  calmness  of  which 
we  were  speaking. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  Which  is  different  from 
the  manner  acquired  by  those  who  live  a  great 
deal  in  American  hotels  ? 


BACKLOG  STUDIES,  69 

THE  MISTRESS.     Or  the  Washington  manner? 

HERBERT.     The  last  two  are  the  same. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Not  exactly.  You  think 
you  can  always  tell  if  a  man  has  learned  his 
society  carriage  of  a  dancing-master.  Well, 
you  cannot  always  tell  by  a  person's  manner 
whether  he  is  a  Jiabitut  of  hotels  or  of  Washing 
ton.  But  these  are  distinct  from  the  perfect 
polish  and  politeness  of  indifferentism. 


IV. 

DAYLIGHT  disenchants.  It  draws  one  from  the 
fireside,  and  dissipates  the  idle  illusions  of  con 
versation,  except  under  certain  conditions.  Let 
us  say  that  the  conditions  are  :  a  house  in  the 
country,  with  some  forest-trees  near,  and  a  few 
evergreens,  which  are  Christmas-trees  all  winter 
long,  fringed  with  snow,  glistening  with  ice-pen 
dants,  cheerful  by  day  and  grotesque  by  night  ; 
a  snow-storm  beginning  out  of  a  dark  sky,  fall 
ing  in  a  soft  profusion  that  fills  all  the  air,  its 
dazzling  whiteness  making  a  light  near  at  hand, 
which  is  quite  lost  in  the  distant  darkling  spaces. 


7O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

If  one  begins  to  watch  the  swirling  flakes  and 
crystals,  he  soon  gets  an  impression  of  infinity  of 
resources  that  he  can  have  from  nothing  else  so 
powerfully,  except  it  be  from  Adirondack  gnats. 
Nothing  makes  one  feel  at  home  like  a  great 
snow-storm.  Our  intelligent  cat  will  quit  the 
fire  and  sit  for  hours  in  the  low  window,  watch 
ing  the  falling  snow  with  a  serious  and  contented 
air.  His  thoughts  are  his  own,  but  he  is  in  ac 
cord  with  the  subtlest  agencies  of  Nature  ;  on 
such  a  day  he  is  charged  with  enough  electricity 
to  run  a  telegraphic  battery,  if  it  could  be  util 
ized.  The  connection  between  thought  and  elec 
tricity  has  not  been  exactly  determined,  but  the 
cat  is  mentally  very  alert  in  certain  conditions 
of  the  atmosphere.  Feasting  his  eyes  on  the 
beautiful  out-doors  does  not  prevent  his  atten 
tion  to  the  slightest  noise  in  the  wainscot. 
And  the  snow-storm  brings  content,  but  not 
stupidity,  to  all  the  rest  of  the  household. 

I  can  see  Mandeville  now,  rising  from  his  arm 
chair  and  swinging  his  long  arms  as  he  strides 
to  the  window,  and  looks  out  and  up,  with, 
"  Well,  I  declare  !  "  Herbert  is  pretending  to 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  71 

read  Herbert  Spencer's  tract  on  the  philosophy 
of  style ;  but  he  loses  much  time  in  looking  at 
the  Young  Lady,  who  is  writing  a  letter,  holding 
her  portfolio  in  her  lap,  —  one  of  her  everlasting 
letters  to  one  of  her  fifty  everlasting  friends. 
She  is  one  of  the  female  patriots  who  save  the 
post-ofrice  department  from  being  a  disastrous 
loss  to  the  treasury.  Herbert  is  thinking  of 
the  great  radical  difference  in  the  two  sexes, 
which  legislation  will  probably  never  change  ; 
that  leads  a  woman  always  to  write  letters  on 
her  lap  and  a  man  on  a  table,  —  a  distinction 
which  is  commended  to  the  notice  of  the  anti- 
suffragists. 

The  Mistress,  in  a  pretty  little  breakfast-cap, 
is  moving  about  the  room  with  a  feather-duster, 
whisking  invisible  dust  from  the  picture-frames, 
and  talking  with  the  Parson,  who  has  just  come 
in,  and  is  thawing  the  snow  from  his  boots  on 
the  hearth.  The  Parson  says  the  thermometer 
is  15°,  and  going  down;  that  there  is  a  snow 
drift  across  the  main  church  entrance  three  feet 
high,  and  that  the  house  looks  as  if  it  had  gone 
into  winter  quarters,  religion  and  all.  There 


72  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

were  only  ten  persons  at  the  conference  meeting 
last  night,  and  seven  of  those  were  women  ;  he 
wonders  how  many  weather-proof  Christians 
there  are  in  the  parish,  anyhow. 

The  Fire-Tender  is  in  the  adjoining  library, 
pretending  to  write  ;  but  it  is  a  poor  day  for 
ideas.  He  has  written  his  wife's  name  about 
eleven  hundred  times,  and  cannot  get  any  far 
ther.  He  hears  the  Mistress  tell  the  Parson 
that  she  believes  he  is  trying  to  write  a  lecture 
on  the  Celtic  Influence  in  Literature.  The 
Parson  says  that  it  is  a  first-rate  subject,  if 
there  were  any  such  influence,  and  asks  why 
he  does  n't  take  a  shovel  and  make  a  path  to 
the  gate.  Mandeville  says  that,  by  George  !  he 
himself  should  like  no  better  fun,  but  it  would  n't 
look  well  for  a  visitor  to  do  it.  The  Fire-Ten 
der,  not  to  be  disturbed  by  this  sort  of  chaff, 
keeps  on  writing  his  wife's  name. 

Then  the  Parson  and  the  Mistress  fall  to  talk 
ing  about  the  soup-relief,  and  about  old  Mrs. 
Crumples  in  Pig  Alley,  who  had  a  present  of 
one  of  Stowe's  Illustrated  Self-Acting  Bibles  on 
Christmas,  when  she  had  n't  coal  enough  in  the 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


73 


house  to  heat  her  gruel  ;  and  about  a  family  be 
hind  the  church,  a  widow  and  six  little  children 
and  three  dogs;  and  he  did  n't  believe  that  any 
of  them  had  known  what  it  was  to  be  warm  in 
three  weeks,  and  as  to  food,  the  woman  said,  she 
could  hardly  beg  cold  victuals  enough  to  keep 
the  dogs  alive. 

The  Mistress  slipped  out  into  the  kitchen  to 
fill  a  basket  with  provisions  and  send  it  some 
where  ;  and  when  the  Fire-Tender  brought  in  a 
new  forestick,  Mancleville,  who  always  wants  to 
talk,  and  had  been  sitting  drumming  his  feet 
and  drawing  deep  sighs,  attacked  him. 

MANDEVILLE.  Speaking  about  culture  and 
manners,  did  you  ever  notice  how  extremes 
meet,  and  that  the  savage  bears  himself  very 
much  like  the  sort  of  cultured  persons  we  were 
talking  of  last  night  ? 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.     In  what  respect  ? 

MANDEVILLE.  Well,  you  take  the  North 
American  Indian.  He  is  never  interested  in 
anything,  never  surprised  at  anything.  He  has 
by  nature  that  calmness  and  indifference  which 
your  people  of  culture  have  acquired.  If  he 


74  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

should  go  into  literature  as  a  critic,  he  would 
scalp  and  tomahawk  with  the  same  emotionless 
composure,  and  he  would  do  nothing  else. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Then  you  think  the  red 
man  is  a  born  gentleman  of  the  highest  breeding  ? 

MANDEVILLE.     I  think  he  is  calm. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  How  is  it  about  the 
war-path  and  all  that  ? 

MANDEVILLE.  O,  these  studiously  calm  and 
cultured  people  may  have  malice  underneath.  It 
takes  them  to  give  the  most  effective  "  little 
digs  "  ;  they  know  how  to  stick  in  the  pine-splin 
ters  and  set  fire  to  them. 

HERBERT.  But  there  is  more  in  Mandeville's 
idea.  You  bring  a  red  man  into  a  picture-gal 
lery,  or  a  city  full  of  fine  architecture,  or  into  a 
drawing-room  crowded  with  objects  of  art  and 
beauty,  and  he  is  apparently  insensible  to  them 
all.  Now  I  have  seen  country  people,  —  and  by 
country  people  I  don't  mean  people  necessarily 
who  live  in  the  country,  for  everything  is  mixed 
in  these  days,  —  some  of  the  best  people  in  the 
world,  intelligent,  honest,  sincere,  who  acted  as 
the  Indian  would. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  75 

THE  MISTRESS.  Herbert,  if  I  did  n't  know  you 
were  cynical,  I  should  say  you  were  snobbish. 

HERBERT.  Such  people  think  it  a  point  of 
breeding  never  to  speak  of  anything  in  your 
house,  nor  to  appear  to  notice  it,  however  beau 
tiful  it  may  be  ;  even  to  slyly  glance  around 
strains  their  notion  of  etiquette.  They  are  like 
the  countryman  who  confessed  afterwards  that 
he  could  hardly  keep  from  laughing  at  one  of 
Yankee  Hill's  entertainments. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  Do  you  remember  those 
English  people  at  our  house  in  Flushing  last 
summer,  who  pleased  us  all  so  much  with  their 
apparent  delight  in  everything  that  was  artis 
tic  or  tasteful,  who  explored  the  rooms  and 
looked  at  everything,  and  were  so  interested  ? 
I  suppose  that  Herbert's  country  relations,  many 
of  whom  live  in  the  city,  would  have  thought  it 
very  ill-bred. 

MANDEVILLE.  It  's  just  as  I  said.  The  Eng 
lish,  the  best  of  them,  have  become  so  civilized  that 
they  express  themselves,  in  speech  and  action, 
naturally,  and  are  not  afraid  of  their  emotions. 

THE  PARSON.  I  wish  Mandeville  would  travel 
more,  or  that  he  had  stayed  at  home.  It 's  won- 


76  BACKLOG  STUDIES, 

derful  what  a  fit  of  Atlantic  sea-sickness  will  do 
for  a  man's  judgment  and  cultivation.  He  is  pre 
pared  to  pronounce  on  art,  manners,  all  kinds  of 
culture.  There  is  more  nonsense  talked  about 
culture  than  about  anything  else. 

HERBERT.  The  Parson  reminds  me  of  an 
American  country  minister  I  once  met  walking 
through  the  Vatican.  You  could  n't  impose 
upon  him  with  any  rubbish  ;  he  tested  every 
thing  by  the  standards  of  his  native  place,  and 
there  was  little  that  could  bear  the  test.  He 
had  the  sly  air  of  a  man  who  could  not  be  de 
ceived,  and  he  went  about  with  his  mouth  in 
a  pucker  of  incredulity.  There  is  nothing  so 
placid  as  rustic  conceit.  There  was  something 
very  enjoyable  about  his  calm  superiority  to  all 
the  treasures  of  art. 

MANDEVILLE.  And  the  Parson  reminds  me  of 
another  American  minister,  a  consul  in  an  Italian 
city,  who  said  he  was  going  up  to  Rome  to  have 
a  thorough  talk  with  the  Pope,  and  give  him  a 
piece  of  his  mind.  Ministers  seem  to  think  that 
is  their  business.  They  serve  it  in  such  small 
pieces  in  order  to  make  it  go  round. 

THE  PARSON.    Mandeville  is  an  infidel.    Come, 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


let  's  have   some   music  ;  nothing  else  will  keep 
him  in  good  humor  till  lunch-time. 
THE  MISTRESS.     What  shall  it  be  ? 
THE  PARSON.     Give  us  the  larghetto  from  Beet 
hoven's  second  symphony. 

The  Young  Lady  puts  aside  her  portfolio. 
Herbert  looks  at  the  young  lady.  The  Parson 
composes  himself  for  critical  purposes.  Mande- 
ville  settles  himself  in  a  chair  and  stretches  his 
long  legs  nearly  into  the  fire,  remarking  that 
music  takes  the  tangles  out  of  him. 

After  the  piece   is  finished, 
lunch  is  announced.      It 
is  still  snowing. 


*s  difficult  to  exP^in  the  attraction 
which  the  uncanny  and  even  the  hor- 
rible  have  for  most  minds.  I  have 
seen  a  delicate  woman  half  fascinated,  but 
wholly  disgusted,  by  one  of  the  most  unseemly 
of  reptiles,  vulgarly  known  as  the  "  blowing 
viper  "  of  the  Alleghanies.  She  would  look  at  it, 
and  turn  away  with  irresistible  shuddering  and  the 
utmost  loathing,  and  yet  turn  to  look  at  it  again 
and  again,  only  to  experience  the  same  spasm  of 
disgust.  In  spite  of  her  aversion  she  must  have 
relished  the  sort  of  electric  mental  shock  that 
the  sight  gave  her. 

I    can    no    more   account    for   the   fascination 
for    us  of    the    stories  of    ghosts    and    "  appear- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  79 

ances,"  and  those  weird  tales  in  which  the  dead 
are  the  chief  characters ;  nor  tell  why  we 
should  fall  into  converse  about  them  when 
the  winter  evenings  are  far  spent,  the  embers 
are  glazing  over  on  the  hearth,  and  the  listener 
begins  to  hear  the  eerie  noises  in  the  house. 
At  such  times  one's  dreams  become  of  impor 
tance,  and  people  like  to  tell  them  and  dwell 
upon  them,  as  if  they  were  a  link  between  the 
known  and  unknown,  and  could  give  us  a 
clew  to  that  ghostly  region  which  in  certain 
states  of  the  mind  we  feel  to  be  more  real  than 
that  we  see. 

Recently,  when  we  were,  so  to  say,  sitting 
around  the  borders  of  the  supernatural  late  at 
night,  MANDEVILLE  related  a  dream  of  his  which 
he  assured  us  was  true  in  every  particular,  and 
it  interested  us  so  much  that  we  asked  him  to 
write  it  out.  In  doing  so  he  has  curtailed  it, 
and  to  my  mind  shorn  it  of  some  of  its  more 
vivid  and  picturesque  features.  He  might  have 
worked  it  up  with  more  art,  and  given  it  a  finish 
which  the  narration  now  lacks,  but  I  think 
best  to  insert  it  in  its  simplicity.  It  seems  to 
me  that  it  may  properly  be  called, 


8O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

A   NEW   "VISION  OF   SIN." 

IN  the  winter  of  1850  I  was  a  member  of  one 
of  the  leading  colleges  of  this  country.  I  was  in 
moderate  circumstances  pecuniarily,  though  I  was 
perhaps  better  furnished  with  less  fleeting  riches 
than  many  others.  I  was  an  incessant  and  indis 
criminate  reader  of  books.  For  the  solid  sciences 
I  had  no  particular  fancy,  but  with  mental  modes 
and  habits,  and  especially  with  the  eccentric  and 
fantastic  in  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  opera 
tions,  I  was  tolerably  familiar.  All  the  literature 
of  the  supernatural  was  as  real  to  me  as  the  lab 
oratory  of  the  chemist,  where  I  saw  the  continual 
struggle  of  material  substances  to  evolve  them 
selves  into  more  volatile,  less  palpable  and  coarse 
forms.  My  imagination,  naturally  vivid,  stimu 
lated  by  such  repasts,  nearly  mastered  me.  At 
times  I  could  scarcely  tell  where  the  material 
ceased  and  the  immaterial  began  (if  I  may  so 
express  it)  ;  so  that  once  and  again  I  Balked,  as 
it  seemed,  from  the  solid  earth  onward  upon  an 
impalpable  plain,  where  I  heard  the  same  voices, 
I  think,  that  Joan  of  Arc  heard  call  to  her  in  the 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  8 1 

garden  at  Domremy.  She  was  inspired,  how 
ever,  while  I  only  lacked  exercise.  I  do  not 
mean  this  in  any  literal  sense  ;  I  only  describe  a 
state  of  mind.  I  was  at  this  time  of  spare  habit, 
and  nervous,  excitable  temperament.  I  was  am 
bitious,  proud,  and  extremely  sensitive.  I  cannot 
deny  that  I  had  seen  something  of  the  world,  and 
had  contracted  about  the  average  bad  habits  of 
young  men  who  have  the  sole  care  of  themselves, 
and  rather  bungle  the  matter.  It  is  necessary  to 
this  relation  to  admit  that  I  had  seen  a  trifle 
more  of  what  is  called  life  than  a  young  man 
ought  to  see,  but  at  this  period  I  was  not  only 
sick  of  my  experience,  but  my  habits  were  as  cor 
rect  as  those  of  any  Pharisee  in  our  college,  and 
we  had  some  very  favorable  specimens  of  that 
ancient  sect. 

Nor  can  I  deny  that  at  this  period  of  my  life  I 
was  in  a  peculiar  mental  condition.  I  well  re 
member  an  illustration  of  it.  I  sat  writing  late 
one  night,  copying  a  prize  essay,  —  a  merely  man 
ual  task,  leaving  my  thoughts  free.  It  was  in 
June,  a  sultry  night,  and  about  midnight  a  wind 
arose,  pouring  in  through  the  open  windows,  full 


82  BACKLOG  STUDIES, 

of  mournful  reminiscence,  not  of  this,  but  of 
other  summers,  —  the  same  wind  that  De  Quincey 
heard  at  noonday  in  midsummer  blowing  through 
the  room  where  he  stood,  a  mere  boy,  by  the  side 
of  his  dead  sister,  —  a  wind  centuries  old.  As  I 
wrote  on  mechanically  I  became  conscious  of  a 
presence  in  the  room,  though  I  did  not  lift  my 
eyes  from  the  paper  on  which  I  wrote.  Gradually 
I  came  to  know  that  my  grandmother  —  dead  so 
long  ago  that  I  laughed  at  the  idea  —  was  in  the 
room.  She  stood  beside  her  old-fashioned  spin 
ning-wheel,  and  quite  near  me.  She  wore  a  plain 
muslin  cap  with  a  high  puff  in  the  crown,  a  short 
woollen  gown,  a  white  and  blue  checked  apron, 
and  shoes  with  heels.  She  did  not  regard  me, 
but  stood  facing  the  wheel,  with  the  left  hand 
near  the  spindle,  holding  lightly  between  the 
thumb  and  forefinger  the  white  roll  of  wool 
which  was  being  spun  and  twisted  on  it.  In  her 
right  hand  she  held  a  small  stick.  I  heard  the 
sharp  click  of  this  against  the  spokes  of  the 
wheel,  then  the  hum  of  the  wheel,  the  buzz  of 
the  spindles  as  the  twisting  yarn  was  teased  by 
the  whirl  of  its  point,  then  a  step  backwards,  a 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  83 


pause,  a  step  forward  and  the  running  of  the 
yarn  upon  the  spindle,  and  again  a  backward 
step,  the  drawing  out  of  the  roll  and  the  droning 
and  hum  of  the  wheel,  —  most  mournful,  hopeless 
sound  that  ever  fell  on  mortal  ear.  Since  child 
hood  it  has  haunted  me.  All  this  time  I  wrote, 
and  I  could  hear  distinctly  the  scratching  of  the 
pen  upon  the  paper.  But  she  stood  behind  me 
(why  I  did  not  turn  my  head  I  never  knew), 
pacing  backward  and  forward  by  the  spinning- 
wheel,  just  as  I  had  a  hundred  times  seen  her  in 
childhood  in  the  old  kitchen  on  drowsy  summer 
afternoons.  And  I  heard  the  step,  the  buzz  and 
whirl  of  the  spindle,  and  the  monotonous  and 
dreary  hum  of  the  mournful  wheel.  Whether  her 
face  was  ashy  pale  and  looked  as  if  it  might 
crumble  at  the  touch,  and  the  border  of  her 
white  cap  trembled  in  the  June  wind  that  blew, 
I  cannot  say,  for  I  tell  you  I  did  NOT  see  her. 
But  I  know  she  was  there,  spinning  yarn  that 
had  been  knit  into  hose  years  and  years  ago  by 
our  fireside.  For  I  was  in  full  possession  of  my 
faculties,  and  never  copied  more  neatly  and  legi 
bly  any  manuscript  than  I  did  the  one  that  night. 


84  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

And  there  the  phantom  (I  use  the  word  out  of 
deference  to  a  public  prejudice  on  this  subject) 
most  persistently  remained  until  my  task  was 
finished,  and,  closing  the  portfolio,  I  abruptly 
rose.  Did  I  see  anything  ?  That  is  a  silly  and 
ignorant  question.  Could  I  see  the  wind  which 
had  now  risen  stronger,  and  drove  a  few  cloud- 
scuds  across  the  sky,  filling  the  night,  somehow, 
with  a  longing  that  was  not  altogether  born  of 
reminiscence  ? 

In  the  winter  following,  in  January,  I  made  an 
effort  to  give  up  the  use  of  tobacco,  —  a  habit 
in  which  I  was  confirmed,  and  of  which  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say  than  this  :  that  I  should 
attribute  to  it  almost  all  the  sin  and  misery  in 
the  world,  did  I  not  remember  that  the  old 
Romans  attained  a  very  considerable  state  of 
corruption  without  the  assistance  of  the  Virginia 
plant. 

On  the  night  of  the  third  day  of  my  absti 
nence,  rendered  more  nervous  and  excitable  than 
usual  by  the  privation,  I  retired  late,  and  later 
still  I  fell  into  an  uneasy  sleep,  and  thus  into  a 
dream,  vivid,  illuminated,  more  real  than  any 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  85 

event  of  my  life.  I  was  at  home,  and  fell  sick. 
The  illness  developed  into  a  fever,  and  then  a 
delirium  set  in,  not  an  intellectual  blank,  but  a 
misty  and  most  delicious  wandering  in  places 
of  incomparable  beauty.  I  learned  subsequently 
that  our  regular  physician  was  not  certain  to 
finish  me,  when  a  consultation  was  called,  which 
did  the  business.  I  have  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  they  were  of  the  proper  school. 
I  lay  sick  for  three  days. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth,  at  sunrise,  I 
died. 

The  sensation  was  not  unpleasant.  It  was  not 
a  sudden  shock.  I  passed  out  of  my  body  as  one 
would  walk  from  the  door  of  his  house.  There 
the  body  lay,  —  a  blank,  so  far  as  I  was  con 
cerned,  and  only  interesting  to  me  as  I  was 
rather  entertained  with  watching  the  respect 
paid  to  it.  My  friends  stood  about  the  bedside, 
regarding  me  (as  they  seemed  to  suppose),  while 
I,  in  a  different  part  of  the  room,  could  hardly 
repress  a  smile  at  their  mistake,  solemnized  as 
they  were,  and  I  too,  for  that  matter,  by  my 
recent  demise.  A  sensation  (the  word  you  see 


86  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

is  material  and  inappropriate)  of  etherealization 
and  imponderability  pervaded  me,  and  I  was  not 
sorry  to  get  rid  of  such  a  dull,  slow  mass  as  I 
now  perceived  myself  to  be,  lying  there  on  the 
bed.  —  When  I  speak  of  my  death,  let  me  be 
understood  to  say  that  there  was  no  change,  ex 
cept  that  I  passed  out  of  my  body  and  floated  to 
the  top  of  a  bookcase  in  the  corner  of  the  room, 
from  which  I  looked  down.  For  a  moment  I 
was  interested  to  see  my  person  from  the  out 
side,  but  thereafter  I  was  quite  indifferent  to 
the  body.  I  was  now  simply  soul.  I  seemed 
to  be  a  globe,  impalpable,  transparent,  about  six 
inches  in  diameter.  I  saw  and  heard  everything 
as  before.  Of  course,  matter  was  no  obstacle  to 
me,  and  I  went  easily  and  quickly  wherever  I 
willed  to  go.  There  was  none  of  that  tedious 
process  of  communicating  my  wishes  to  the 
nerves,  and  from  them  to  the  muscles.  I  sim 
ply  resolved  to  be  at  a  particular  place,  and 
I  was  there.  It  was  better  than  the  tele 
graph. 

It  seemed  to  have  been  intimated  to  me  at 
my  death  (birth  I  half  incline  to  call  it)  that  I 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  8/ 

could  remain  on  this  earth  for  four  weeks  after 
my  decease,  during  which  time  I  could  amuse 
myself  as  I  chose. 

I  chose,  in  the  first  place,  to  see  myself  de 
cently  buried,  to  stay  by  myself  to  the  last,  and 
attend  my  own  funeral  for  once.  As  most  of 
those  referred  to  in  this  true  narrative  are  still 
living,  I  am  forbidden  to  indulge  in  personali 
ties,  nor  shall  I  dare  to  say  exactly  how  my 
death  affected  my  friends,  even  the  home  circle. 
Whatever  others  did,  I  sat  up  with  myself  and 
kept  awake.  I  saw  the  "  pennies  "  used  instead 
of  the  "  quarters  "  which  I  should  have  preferred. 
I  saw  myself  "  laid  out,"  a  phrase  that  has  come 
to  have  such  a  slang  meaning  that  I  smile  as 
I  write  it.  When  the  body  was  put  into  the 
coffin  I  took  my  place  on  the  lid. 

I  cannot  recall  all  the  details,  and  they  are 
commonplace  besides.  The  funeral  took  place 
at  the  church.  We  all  rode  thither  in  carriages, 
and  I,  not  fancying  my  place  in  mine,  rode  on 
the  outside  with  the  undertaker,  whom  I  found 
to  be  a  good  deal  more  jolly  than  he  looked  to 
be.  The  coffin  was  placed  in  front  of  the  pulpit 


88  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

when  we  arrived.  I  took  my  station  on  the  pul 
pit  cushion,  from  which  elevation  I  had  an  ad 
mirable  view  of  all  the  ceremonies,  and  could 
hear  the  sermon.  How  distinctly  I  remember 
the  services.  I  think  I  could  even  at  this  dis 
tance  write  out  the  sermon.  The  tune  sung  was 
of  the  usual  country  selection,  —  Mount  Vernon. 
I  recall  the  text.  I  was  rather  flattered  by  the 
tribute  paid  to  me,  and  my  future  was  spoken 
of  gravely  and  as  kindly  as  possible,  —  indeed 
with  remarkable  charity,  considering  that  the 
minister  was  not  aware  of  my  presence.  I 
used  to  beat  him  at  chess,  and  I  thought,  even 
then,  of  the  last  game  ;  for,  however  solemn  the 
occasion  might  be  to  others,  it  was  not  so  to 
me.  With  what  interest  I  watched  my  kins 
folks  and  neighbors  as  they  filed  past  for  the 
last  look !  I  saw,  and  I  remember,  who  pulled 
a  long  face  for  the  occasion  and  who  exhibited 
genuine  sadness.  I  learned  with  the  most  dread 
ful  certainty  what  people  really  thought  of  me. 
It  was  a  revelation  never  forgotten. 

Several  particular  acquaintances  of  mine  were 
talking  on  the  steps  as  we  passed  out. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  89 

"  Well,  old  Starr  's  gone  up.  Sudden,  was  n't 
it  ?  He  was  a  first-rate  fellow." 

"  Yes,  queer  about  some  things  ;  but  he  had 
some  mighty  good  streaks,"  said  another.  And 
so  they  ran  on. 

Streaks  !  So  that  is  the  reputation  one  gets 
during  twenty  years  of  life  in  this  world.  Streaks ! 

After  the  funeral  I  rode  home  with  the  family. 
It  was  pleasanter  than  the  ride  down,  though  it 
seemed  sad  to  my  relations.  They  did  not  men 
tion  me,  however,  and  I  may  remark,  that  al 
though  I  stayed  about  home  for  a  week,  I  never 
heard  my  name  mentioned  by  any  of  the  family. 
Arrived  at  home,  the  tea-kettle  was  put  on  and 
supper  got  ready.  This  seemed  to  lift  the  gloom 
a  little,  and  under  the  influence  of  the  tea  they 
brightened  up  and  gradually  got  more  cheer 
ful.  They  discussed  the  sermon  and  the  sing 
ing,  and  the  mistake  of  the  sexton  in  digging  the 
grave  in  the  wrong  place,  and  the  large  congre 
gation.  From  the  mantel-piece  I  watched  the 
group.  They  had  waffles  for  supper, — of  which 
I  had  been  exceedingly  fond,  but  now  I  saw 
them  disappear  without  a  sigh. 


9O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

For  the  first  day  or  two  of  my  sojourn  at  home 
I  was  here  and  there  at  all  the  neighbors,  and 
heard  a  good  deal  about  my  life  and  character, 
some  of  which  was  not  very  pleasant,  but  very 
wholesome,  doubtless,  for  me  to  hear.  At  the 
expiration  of  a  week  this  amusement  ceased  to 
be  such,  for  I  ceased  to  be  talked  of.  I  realized 
the  fact  that  I  was  dead  and  gone. 

By  an  act  of  volition  I  found  myself  back  at 
college.  I  floated  into  my  own  room,  which  was 
empty.  I  went  to  the  room  of  my  two  warmest 
friends,  whose  friendship  I  was  and  am  yet  as 
sured  of.  As  usual,  half  a  dozen  of  our  set  were 
lounging  there.  A  game  of  whist  was  just  com 
mencing.  I  perched  on  a  bust  of  Dante  on  the 
top  of  the  book-shelves,  where  I  could  see  two 
of  the  hands  and  give  a  good  guess  at  a  third. 
My  particular  friend  Timmins  was  just  shuffling 
the  cards. 

"  Be  hanged  if  it  is  n't  lonesome  without  old 
Starr.  Did  you  cut  ?  I  should  like  to  see  him 
lounge  in  now  with  his  pipe,  and  with  feet  on 
the  mantel-piece  proceed  to  expound  on  the  du 
plex  functions  of  the  soul." 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  91 

"  There  —  misdeal,"  said  his  vis-a-vis.  "  Hope 
there  's  been  no  misdeal  for  old  Starr." 

"  Spades,  did  you  say  ?  "  the  talk  ran  on.  "  I 
never  knew  Starr  was  sickly." 

"  No  more  was  he ;  stouter  than  you  are,  and 
as  brave  and  plucky  as  he  was  strong.  By 
George,  fellows,  how  we  do  get  cut  down !  Last 
term  little  Stubbs,  and  now  one  of  the  best  fel 
lows  in  the  class." 

"  How  suddenly  he  did  pop  off,  —  one  for 
game,  honors  easy,  —  he  was  good  for  the 
Spouts'  Medal  this  year,  too." 

"  Remember  the  joke  he  played  on  Prof.  A., 
freshman  year  ?  "  asked  another. 

"  Remember   he  borrowed  ten  dollars  of  me 
about  that  time,"  said  Timmins's  partne'r,  gather 
ing  the  cards  for  a  new  deal. 
•  "  Guess  he  is  the  only  one  who  ever  did,"  re 
torted  some  one. 

And  so  the  talk  went  on,  mingled  with  whist- 
talk,  reminiscent  of  me,  not  all  exactly  what  I 
would  have  chosen  to  go  into  my  biography,  but 
on  the  whole  kind  and  tender,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  boys.  At  least  I  was  in  their  thoughts, 


92  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

and  I  could  see  was  a  good  deal  regretted,  — 
so  I  passed  a  very  pleasant  evening.  Most  of 
those  present  were  of  my  society,  and  wore  crape 
on  their  badges,  and  all  wore  the  usual  crape  on 
the  left  arm.  I  learned  that  the  following  after 
noon  a  eulogy  would  be  delivered  on  me  in  the 
chapel. 

The  eulogy  was  delivered  before  members  of 
our  society  and  others,  the  next  afternoon,  in  the 
chapel.  I  need  not  say  that  I  was  present.  In 
deed,  I  was  perched  on  the  desk,  within  reach  of 
the  speaker's  hand.  The  apotheosis  was  pro 
nounced  by  my  most  intimate  friend,  Timmins, 
and  I  must  say  he  did  me  ample  justice.  He 
never  was  accustomed  to  "  draw  it  very  mild  " 
(to  use  a  vulgarism  which  I  dislike)  when  he  had 
his  head,  and  on  this  occasion  he  entered  into 
the  matter  with  the  zeal  of  a  true  friend,  and  a 
young  man  who  never  expected  to  have  another 
occasion  to  sing  a  public  "  In  Memoriam."  It 
made  my  hair  stand  on  end,  —  metaphorically, 
of  course.  From  my  childhood  I  had  been  ex 
tremely  precocious.  There  were  anecdotes  of 
preternatural  brightness,  picked  up,  Heaven 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  93 

knows  where,  of  my  eagerness  to  learn,  of  my 
adventurous,  chivalrous  young  soul,  and  of  my 
arduous  struggles  with  chill  penury,  which  was 
not  able  (as  it  appeared)  to  repress  my  rage, 
until  I  entered  this  institution,  of  which  I  had 
been  ornament,  pride,  cynosure,  and  fair  prom 
ising  bud  blasted  while  yet  its  fragrance  was 
mingled  with  the  dew  of  its  youth.  Once 
launched  upon  my  college  days,  Timmins  went 
on  with  all  sails  spread.  I  had,  as  it  were,  to 
hold  on  to  the  pulpit  cushion.  Latin,  Greek, 
the  old  literatures  I  was  perfect  master  of;  all 
history  was  merely  a  light  repast  to  me  ;  mathe 
matics  I  glanced  at,  and  it  disappeared  ;  in  the 
clouds  of  modern  philosophy  I  was  wrapped  but 
not  obscured  ;  over  the  field  of  light  literature  I 
familiarly  roamed  as  the  honey-bee  over  the  wide 
fields  of  clover  which  blossom  white  in  the  Junes 
of  this  world  !  My  life  was  pure,  my  character 
spotless,  my  name  was  inscribed  among  the 
names  of  those  deathless  few  who  were  not 
born  to  die  ! 

It  was  a  noble  eulogy,  and  I  felt  before  he 
finished,  though  I  had  misgivings  at   the  begin.- 


94  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

ning,  that  I  deserved  it  all.  The  effect  on  the 
audience  was  a  little  different.  They  said  it 
was  a  "  strong  "  oration,  and  I  think  Timmins 
got  more  credit  by  it  than  I  did.  After  the 
performance  they  stood  about  the  chapel,  talk 
ing  in  a  subdued  tone,  and  seemed  to  be  a  good 
deal  impressed  by  -what  they  had  heard,  or  per 
haps  by  thoughts  of  the  departed.  At  least 
they  all  soon  went  over  to  Austin's  and  called 
for  beer.  My  particular  friends  called  for  it 
twice.  Then  they  all  lit  pipes.  The  old  gro 
cery  keeper  was  good  enough  to  say  that  I  was 
no  fool,  if  I  did  go  off  owing  him  four  dollars. 
To  the  credit  of  human  nature,  let  me  here 
record  that  the  fellows  were  touched  by  this 
remark  reflecting  upon  my  memory,  and  imme 
diately  made  up  a  purse  and  paid  the  bill,  — 
that  is,  they  told  the  old  man  to  charge  it  over 
to  them.  College  boys  are  rich  in  credit  and 
the  possibilities  of  life. 

It  is  needless  to  dwell  upon  the  days  I  passed 
at  college  during  this  probation.  So  far  as  I 
could  see,  everything  went  on  as  if  I  were  there, 
or  had  never  been  there.  I  could  not  even  see 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  95 

the  place  where  I  had  dropped  out  of  the  ranks. 
Occasionally  I  heard  my  name,  but  I  must  say 
that  four  weeks  was  quite  long  enough  to  stay 
in  a  world  that  had  pretty  much  forgotten  me. 
There  is  no  great  satisfaction  in  being  dragged 
up  to  light  now  and  then,  like  an  old  letter 
The  case  was  somewhat  different  with  the 
people  with  whom  I  had  boarded.  They  were 
relations  of  mine,  and  I  often  saw  them  weep, 
and  they  talked  of  me  a  good  deal  at  twilight 
and  Sunday  nights,  especially  the  youngest  one, 
Carrie,  who  was  handsomer  than  any  one  I  knew, 
and  not  much  older  than  I.  I  never  used  to 
imagine  that  she  cared  particularly  for  me,  nor 
would  she  have  done  so,  if  I  had  lived,  but  death 
brought  with  it  a  sort  of  sentimental  regret, 
which,  with  the  help  of  a  daguerreotype,  she 
nursed  into  quite  a  little  passion.  I  spent  most 
of  my  time  there,  for  it  was  more  congenial  than 
the  college. 

But  time  hastened.  The  last  sand  of  proba 
tion  leaked  out  of  the  glass.  One  day,  while 
Carrie  played  (for  me,  though  she  knew  it  not) 
one  of  Mendelssohn's  "  songs  without  words,"  I 


g6  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

suddenly,  yet  gently,  without  self-effort  or  voli 
tion,  moved  from  the  house,  floated  in  the  air, 
rose  higher,  higher,  by  an  easy,  delicious,  exult 
ant,  yet  inconceivably  rapid  motion.  The  ec 
stasy  of  that  triumphant  flight !  Groves,  trees, 
houses,  the  landscape,  dimmed,  faded,  fled  away 
beneath  me.  Upward  mounting,  as  on  angels' 
wings,  with  no  effort,  till  the  earth  hung  be 
neath  me  a  round  black  ball  swinging,  remote, 
in  the  universal  ether.  Upward  mounting,  till 
the  earth,  no  longer  bathed  in  the  sun's  rays, 
went  out  to  my  sight,  —  disappeared  in  the 
blank.  Constellations,  before  seen  from  afar,  I 
sailed  among.  Stars,  too  remote  for  shining  on 
earth,  I  neared,  and  found  to  be  round  globes 
flying  through  space  with  a  velocity  only 
equalled  by  my  own.  New  worlds  continually 
opened  on  my  sight  ;  new  fields  of  everlasting 
space  opened  and  closed  behind  me. 

For  days  and  days  —  it  seemed  a  mortal  for 
ever —  I  mounted  up  the  great  heavens,  whose 
everlasting  doors  swung  wide.  How  the  worlds 
and  systems,  stars,  constellations,  neared  me, 
blazed  and  flashed  in  splendor,  and  fled  away ! 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


97 


At  length,  —  was  it  not  a  thousand  years  ?  —  I 
saw  before  me,  yet  afar  off,  a  wall,  the  rocky 
bourn  of  that  country  whence  travellers  come 
not  back,  a  battlement  wider  than  I  could  guess, 
the  height  of  which  I  could  not  see,  the  depth  of 
which  was  infinite.  As  I  approached,  it  shone 
with  a  splendor  never  yet  beheld  on  earth.  Its 
solid  substance  was  built  of  jewels  the  rarest, 
and  stones  of  priceless  value.  It  seemed  like 
one  solid  stone,  and  yet  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow  were  contained  in  it.  The  ruby,  the 
diamond,  the  emerald,  the  carbuncle,  the  topaz, 
the  amethyst,  the  sapphire  ;  of  them  the  wall 
was  built  up  in  harmonious  combination.  So 
brilliant  was  it  that  all  the  space  I  floated  in  was 
full  of  the  splendor.  So  mild  was  it  and  so 
translucent,  that  I  could  look  for  miles  into  its 
clear  depths. 

Rapidly  nearing  this  heavenly  battlement,  an 
immense  niche  was  disclosed  in  its  solid  face. 
The  floor  was  one  large  ruby.  Its  sloping  sides 
were  of  pearl.  Before  I  was  aware  I  stood  within 
the  brilliant  recess.  I  say  I  stood  there,  for  I  was 
there  bodily,  in  my  habit  as  I  lived ;  how,  I  can- 


98  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

not  explain.  Was  it  the  resurrection  of  the 
body  ?  Before  me  rose,  a  thousand  feet  in 
height,  a  wonderful  gate  of  flashing  diamond. 
Beside  it  sat  a  venerable  man,  with  long  white 
beard,  a  robe  of  light  gray,  ancient  sandals, 
and  a  golden  key  hanging  by  a  cord  from  his 
waist.  In  the  serene  beauty  of  his  noble  fea 
tures  I  saw  justice  and  mercy  had  met  and 
were  reconciled.  I  cannot  describe  the  majesty 
of  his  bearing  or  the  benignity  of  his  appear 
ance.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  stood  before 
St.  Peter,  who  sits  at  the  Celestial  Gate. 

I  humbly  approached,  and  begged  admission. 
St.  Peter  arose,  and  regarded  me  kindly,  yet 
inquiringly. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  he,  "and  from 
what  place  do  you  come  ?  " 

I  answered,  and,  wishing  to  give  a  name  well 
known,  said  I  was  from  Washington,  United 
States.  He  looked  doubtful,  as  if  he  had  never 
heard  the  name  before. 

"  Give  me,"  said  he,  "  a  full  account  of  your 
whole  life." 

I  felt  instantaneously  that  there  was  no  con- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  99 

cealment  possible  ;  all  disguise  fell  away,  and  an 
unknown  power  forced  me  to  speak  absolute  and 
exact  truth.  I  detailed  the  events  of  my  life  as 
well  as  I  could,  and  the  good  man  was  not  a  lit 
tle  affected  by  the  recital  of  my  early  trials,  pov 
erty,  and  temptation.  It  did  not  seem  a  very 
good  life  when  spread  out  in  that  presence,  and 
I  trembled  as  I  proceeded  ;  but  I  plead  youth, 
inexperience,  and  bad  examples. 

"  Have  you  been  accustomed,"  he  said,  after  a 
time,  rather  sadly,  "  to  break  the  Sabbath  ? " 

I  told  him  frankly  that  I  had  been  rather  lax 
in  that  matter,  especially  at  college.  I  often 
went  to  sleep  in  the  chapel  on  Sunday,  when 
I  was  not  reading  some  entertaining  book.  He 
then  asked  who  the  preacher  was,  and  when  I 
told  him,  he  remarked  that  I  was  not  so  much 
to  blame  as  he  had  supposed. 

"  Have  you,"  he  went  on,  "  ever  stolen,  or  told 
any  lie  ? " 

I  was  able  to  say  no,  except  admitting  as  to 
the  first  usual  college  "  conveyances,"  and  as  to 
the  last  an  occasional  "blinder"  to  the  profes 
sors.  He  was  gracious  enough  to  say  that  these 


IOO  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

could  be  overlooked  as  incident  to  the  occa 
sion. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  dissipated,  living  riot 
ously  and  keeping  late  hours  ? " 

"  Yes." 

This  also  could  be  forgiven  me  as  an  incident 
of  youth. 

"  Did  you  ever,"  he  went  on,  "  commit  the 
crime  of  using  intoxicating  drinks  as  a  bever- 
ao-e  ?  " 

a£>C  ' 

I  answered  that  I  had  never  been  a  habitual 
drinker,  that  I  had  never  been  what  was  called  a 
"  moderate  drinker,"  that  I  had  never  gone  to  a 
bar  and  drank  alone  ;  but  that  I  had  been  ac 
customed,  in  company  with  other  young  men,  on 
convivial  occasions  to  taste  the  pleasures  of  the 
flowing  bowl,  sometimes  to  excess,  but  that  I  had 
also  tasted  the  pains  of  it,  and  for  months  before 
my  demise  had  refrained  from  liquor  altogether. 
The  holy  man  looked  grave,  but,  after  reflection, 
said  this  might  also  be  overlooked  in  a  young 
man. 

"  What,"  continued  he,  in  tones  still  more 
serious,  "  has  been  your  conduct  with  regard 
to  the  other  sex  ?  " 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  roi 

I  fell  upon  my  knees  in  a  tremor  of  fear.  I 
pulled  from  my  bosom  a  little  book  like  the 
one  Leperello  exhibits  in  the  opera  of  Don 
Giovanni.  There,  I  said,  was  a  record  of  my 
flirtation  and  inconstancy.  I  waited  long  for  the 
decision,  but  it  came  in  mercy. 

"  Rise,"  he  cried  ;  "  young  men  will  be  young 
men,  I  suppose.  We  shall  forgive  this  also  to 
your  youth  and  penitence." 

"  Your  examination  is  satisfactory,"  he  in 
formed  me,  after  a  pause;  "you  can  now  enter 
the  abodes  of  the  happy." 

Joy  leaped  within  me.  We  approached  the 
gate.  The  key  turned  in  the  lock.  The  gate 
swung  noiselessly  on  its  hinges  a  little  open. 
Out  flashed  upon  me  unknown  splendors. 
What  I  saw  in  that  momentary  gleam  "I  shall 
never  whisper  in  mortal  ears.  I  stood  upon 
the  threshold,  just  about  to  enter. 

"  Stop !  one  moment,"  exclaimed  St.  Peter, 
laying  his  hand  on  my  shoulder ;  "  I  have  one 
more  question  to  ask  you." 

I  turned  toward  him. 

"  Young  man,  did  you  ever  use  tobacco  ?  " 


102  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

"  I  both  smoked  and  chewed  in  my  lifetime," 
I  faltered,  "but — " 

"  THEN  TO  HELL  WITH  YOU  ! "  he  shouted  in 
a  voice  of  thunder. 

Instantly  the  gate  closed  without  noise,  and  I 
was  flung,  hurled,  from  the  battlement,  down  ! 
down !  down  !  Faster  and  faster  I  sank  in  a 
dizzy,  sickening  whirl  into  an  unfathomable 
space  of  gloom.  The  light  faded.  Dampness 
and  darkness  were  round  about  me.  As  before, 
for  days  and  days  I  rose  exultant  in  the  light, 
so  now  forever  I  sank  into  thickening  darkness, 
—  and  yet  not  darkness,  but  a  pale,  ashy  light 
more  fearful. 

In  the  dimness,  I  at  length  discovered  a  wall 
before  me.  It  ran  up  and  down  and  on  either 
hand  endlessly  into  the  night.  It  was  solid, 
black,  terrible  in  its  frowning  massiveness. 

Straightway  I  alighted  at  the  gate,  —  a  dismal 
crevice  hewn  into  the  dripping  rock.  The  gate 
was  wide  open,  and  there  sat  —  I  knew  him  at 
once  ;  who  does  not  ?  —  the  Arch  Enemy  of 
mankind.  He  cocked  his  eye  at  me  in  an  im 
pudent,  low,  familiar  manner  that  disgusted  me. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


103 


I  saw  that  I  was  not  to  be  treated  like  a  gen 
tleman. 

"Well,  young  man,"  said  he,  rising,  with  a 
queer  grin  on  his  face,  "  what  are  you  sent  here 
for  ?  " 

"  For  using  tobacco,"  I  replied. 

"  Ho  !  "  shouted  he  in  a  jolly  manner,  peculiar 
to  devils,  "  that's  what  most  of  'em  are  sent  here 
for  now." 

Without  more  ado,  he  called  four  lesser  imps, 
who  ushered  me  within.  What  a  dreadful  plain 
lay  before  me !  There  was  a  vast  city  laid  out 
in  regular  streets,  but  there  were  no  houses. 
Along  the  streets  were  places  of  torment  and 
torture  exceedingly  ingenious  and  disagreeable. 
For  miles  and  miles,  it  seemed,  I  followed  my 
conductors  through  these  horrors.  Here  was  a 
deep  vat  of  burning  tar.  Here  were  rows  of  fiery 
ovens.  I  noticed  several  immense  caldron  ket 
tles  of  boiling  oil,  upon  the  rims  of  which  little 
devils  sat,  with  pitchforks  in  hand,  and  poked 
down  the  helpless  victims  who  floundered  in  the 
liquid.  But  I  forbear  to  go  into  unseemly  de 
tails.  The  whole  scene  is  as  vivid  in  my  mind 
as  any  earthly  landscape. 


104 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


After  an  hour's  walk  my  tormentors  halted 
before  the  mouth  of  an  oven,  —  a  furnace  heated 
seven  times,  and  now  roaring  with  flames.  They 
grasped  me,  one  hold  of  each  hand  and  foot. 
Standing  before  the  blazing  mouth,  they,  with 
a  swing,  and  a  "one,  two,  THREE  — " 

I  again  assure  the  reader  that  in  this  narra 
tive  I  have  set  down  nothing  that  was  not  ac 
tually  dreamed,  and  much,  very  much  of  this 
wonderful  vision  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit. 

H<zc  fabula  docet:  It  is  dangerous  for  a  young 
man  to  leave  off  the  use  of  tobacco. 


I  could  fitly  celebrate  the  joy- 
ousness  of  the  New  England  winter. 
Perhaps  I  could  if  I  more  thoroughly 
believed  in  it.  But  scepticism  comes  in  with  the 
south-wind.  When  that  begins  to  blow,  one 
feels  the  foundations  of  his  belief  breaking  up. 
This  is  only  another  way  of  saying  that  it  is 
more  difficult,  if  it  be  not  impossible,  to  freeze 
out  orthodoxy,  or  any  fixed  notion,  than  it  is  to 
thaw  it  out ;  though  it  is  a  mere  fancy  to  suppose 
that  this  is  the  reason  why  the  martyrs,  of  all 
creeds,  were  burned  at  the  stake.  There  is  said 
to  be  a  great  relaxation  in  New  England  of  the 
ancient  strictness  in  the  direction  of  toleration  of 
opinion,  called  by  some  a  lowering  of  the  standard, 


106  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

and  by  others  a  raising  of  the  banner  of  liberality ; 
it  might  be  an  interesting  inquiry  how  much  this 
change  is  due  to  another  change,  —  the  softening 
of  the  New  England  winter  and  the  shifting  of 
the  Gulf  Stream.  It  is  the  fashion  nowadays  to 
refer  almost  everything  to  physical  causes,  and 
this  hint  is  a  gratuitous  contribution  to  the  sci 
ence  of  metaphysical  physics. 

The  hindrance  to  entering  fully  into  the  joy- 
ousness  of  a  New  England  winter,  except  far 
inland  among  the  mountains,  is  the  south-wind. 
It  is  a  grateful  wind,  and  has  done  more,  I  sus 
pect,  to  demoralize  society  than  any  other.  It 
is  not  necessary  to  remember  that  it  filled  the 
silken  sails  of  Cleopatra's  galley.  It  blows  over 
New  England  every  few  days,  and  is  in  some 
portions  of  it  the  prevailing  wind.  That  it 
brings  the  soft  clouds,  and  sometimes  continues 
long  enough  to  almost  deceive  the  expectant 
buds  of  the  fruit-trees,  and  to  tempt  the  robin 
from  the  secluded  evergreen  copses,  may  be 
nothing  ;  but  it  takes  the  tone  out  of  the  mind, 
and  engenders  discontent,  making  one  long  for 
the  tropics  ;  it  feeds  the  weakened  imagination 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


on  palm-leaves  and  the  lotus.  Before  we  know 
it  we  become  demoralized,  and  shrink  from  the 
tonic  of  the  sudden  change  to  sharp  weather,  as 
the  steamed  hydropathic  patient  does  from  the 
plunge.  It  is  the  insidious  temptation  that  as 
sails  us  when  we  are  braced  up  to  profit  by  the 
invigorating  rigor  of  winter. 

Perhaps  the  influence  of  the  four  great  winds 
on  character  is  only  a  fancied  one  ;  but  it  is  evi 
dent  on  temperament,  which  is  not  altogether  a 
matter  of  temperature,  although  the  good  old 
deacon  used  to  say,  in  his  humble,  simple  way, 
that  his  third  wife  was  a  very  good  woman,  but 
her  "  temperature  was  very  different  from  that  of 
the  other  two."  The  north-wind  is  full  of  cour 
age,  and  puts  the  stamina  of  endurance  into  a 
man,  and  it  probably  would  into  a  woman  too  if 
there  were  a  series  of  resolutions  passed  to  that 
effect.  The  west-wind  is  hopeful  ;  it  has  prom 
ise  and  adventure  in  it,  and  is,  except  to  Atlan 
tic  voyagers  America-bound,  the  best  wind  that 
ever  blew.  The  east-wind  is  peevishness  ;  it  is 
mental  rheumatism  and  grumbling,  and  curls  one 
up  in  the  chimney-corner  like  a  cat.  And  if  the 


108  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

chimney  ever  smokes,  it  smokes  when  the  wind 
sits  in  that  quarter.  The  south-wind  is  full  of 
longing  and  unrest,  of  effeminate  suggestions  of 
luxurious  ease,  and  perhaps  we  might  say  of  mod 
ern  poetry,  —  at  any  rate,  modern  poetry  needs 
a  change  of  air.  I  am  not  sure  but  the  south  is 
the  most  powerful  of  the  winds,  because  of  its 
sweet  persuasiveness.  Nothing  so  stirs  the 
blood  in  spring,  when  it  comes  up  out  of  the 
tropical  latitude  ;  it  makes  men  "  longen  to  gon 
on  pilgrimages." 

I  did  intend  to  insert  here  a  little  poem  (as  it 
is  quite  proper  to  do  in  an  essay)  on  the  south- 
wind,  composed  by  the  Young  Lady  Staying 
With  Us,  beginning,  — 

"  Out  of  a  drifting  southern  cloud 

My  soul  heard  the  night-bird  cry,"  — 

but  it  never  got  any  farther  than  this.  The 
Young  Lady  said  it  was  exceedingly  difficult  to 
write  the  next  two  lines,  because  not  only  rhyme 
but  meaning  had  to  be  procured.  And  this  is 
true  ;  anybody  can  write  first  lines,  and  that  is 
probably  the  reason  we  have  so  many  poems 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


109 


which  seem  to  have  been  begun  in  just  this  way, 
that  is,  with  a  south-wind-longing  without  any 
thought  in  it,  and  it  is  very  fortunate  when  there 
is  not  wind  enough  to  finish  them.  This  emo 
tional  poem,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  was  begun  after 
Herbert  went  away.  I  liked  it,  and  thought  it 
was  what  is  called  "  suggestive "  ;  although  I 
did  not  understand  it,  especially  what  the  night- 
bird  was  ;  and  I  am  afraid  I  hurt  the  Young 
Lady's  feelings  by  asking  her  if  she  meant  Her 
bert  by  the  "  night-bird,"  —  a  very  absurd  sug 
gestion  about  two  unsentimental  people.  She 
said,  "  Nonsense "  ;  but  she  afterwards  told  the 
Mistress  that  there  were  emotions  that  one  could 
never  put  into  words  without  the  danger  of  being 
ridiculous  ;  a  profound  truth.  And  yet  I  should 
not  like  to  say  that  there  is  not  a  tender  lone- 
someness  in  love  that  can  get  comfort  out  of  a 
night-bird  in  a  cloud,  if  there  be  such  a  thing. 
Analysis  is  the  death  of  sentiment. 

But  to  return  to  the  winds.  Certain  people 
impress  us  as  the  winds  do.  Mandeville  never 
comes  in  that  I  do  not  feel  a  north-wind  vigor  and 
healthfulness  in  his  cordial,  sincere,  hearty  man- 


MO  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

ner,  and  in  his  wholesome  way  of  looking  at 
things.  The  Parson,  you  would  -say,  was  the 
east-wind,  and  only  his  intimates  know  that  his 
peevishness  is  only  a  querulous  humor.  In  the 
fair  west-wind  I  know  the  Mistress  herself,  full  of 
hope,  and  always  the  first  one  to  discover  a  bit  of 
blue  in  a  cloudy  sky.  It  would  not  be  just  to 
apply  what  I  have  said  of  the  south-wind  to  any 
of  our  visitors,  but  it  did  blow  a  little  while 
Herbert  was  here. 


II. 

IN  point  of  pure  enjoyment,  with  an  intellect 
ual  sparkle  in  it,  I  suppose  that  no  luxurious 
lounging  on  tropical  isles  set  in  tropical  seas 
compares  with  the  positive  happiness  one  may 
have  before  a  great  wood  fire  (not  two  sticks  laid 
crossways  in  a  grate),  with  a  veritable  New 
England  winter  raging  outside.  In  order  to  get 
the  highest  enjoyment,  the  faculties  must  be* 
alert,  and  not  be  lulled  into  a  mere  recipient 
dulness.  There  are  those  who  prefer  a  warm 
bath  to  a  brisk  walk  in  the  inspiring  air,  where 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


ten  thousand  keen  influences  minister  to  the 
sense  of  beauty  and  run  along  the  excited  nerves. 
There  are,  for  instance,  a  sharpness  of  horizon 
outline  and  a  delicacy  of  color  on  distant  hills 
which  are  wanting  in  summer,  and  which  convey 
to  one  rightly  organized  the  keenest  delight,  and 
a  refinement  of  enjoyment  that  is  scarcely  sen 
suous,  not  at  all  sentimental,  and  almost  passing 
the  intellectual  line  into  the  spiritual. 

I  was  speaking  to  Mandeville  about  this,  and 
he  said  that  I  was  drawing  it  altogether  too  fine  ; 
that  he  experienced  sensations  of  pleasure  in 
being  out  in  almost  all  weathers  ;  that  he  rather 
liked  to  breast  a  north-wind,  and  that  there  was 
a  certain  inspiration  in  sharp  outlines  and  in  a 
landscape  in  trim  winter-quarters,  with  stripped 
trees,  and,  as  it  were,  scudding  through  the 
season  under  bare  poles  ;  but  that  he  must  say 
that  he  preferred  the  weather  in  which  he  could 
sit  on  the  fence  by  the  wood-lot,  with  the  spring 
sun  on  his  back,  and  hear  the  stir  of  the  leaves 
and  the  birds  beginning  their  housekeeping. 

A  very  pretty  idea  for  Mandeville  ;  and  I  fear 
he  is  getting  to  have  private  thoughts  about  the 


112  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

Young  Lady.  Mandeville  naturally  likes  the  ro 
bustness  and  sparkle  of  winter,  and  it  has  been 
a  little  suspicious  to  hear  him  express  the  hope 
that  we  shall  have  an  early  spring. 

I  wonder  how  many  people  there  are  in  New 
England  who  know  the  glory  and  inspiration  of  a 
winter  walk  just  before  sunset,  and  that,  too,  not 
only  on  days  of  clear  sky,  when  the  west  is  aflame 
with  a  rosy  color,  which  has  no  suggestion  of  lan 
guor  or  unsatisfied  longing  in  it,  but  on  dull  days, 
when  the  sullen  clouds  hang  about  the  horizon, 
full  of  threats  of  storm  and  the  terrors  of  the 
gathering  night.  We  are  very  busy  with  our  own 
affairs,  but  there  is  always  something  going  on 
out-doors  worth  looking  at ;  and  there  is  seldom 
an  hour  before  sunset  that  has  not  some  special 
attraction.  And,  besides,  it  puts  one  in  the  mood 
for  the  cheer  and  comfort  of  the  open  fire  at 
home. 

Probably  if  the  people  of  New  England  could 
have  a  plebiscitum  on  their  weather,  they  would 
vote  against  it,  especially  against  winter.  Almost 
no  one  speaks  well  of  winter.  And  this  suggests 
the  idea  that  most  people  here  were  either  born 


BACKLOG   STUDIES. 


in  the  wrong  place,  or  do  not  know  what  is  best 
for  them.  I  doubt  if  these  grumblers  would  be 
any  better  satisfied,  or  would  turn  out  as  well, 
in  the  tropics.  Everybody  knows  our  virtues,— 
at  least  if  they  believe  half  we  tell  them,  —  and 
for  delicate  beauty,  that  rare  plant,  I  should  look 
among  the  girls  of  the  New  England  hills  as 
confidently  as  anywhere,  and  I  have  travelled  as 
far  south  as  New  Jersey,  and  west  of  the  Genesee 
Valley.  Indeed,  it  would  be  easy  to  show  that 
the  parents  of  the  pretty  girls  in  the  West  emi 
grated  from  New  England.  And  yet  —  such  is 
the  mystery  of  Providence  —  no  one  would  expect 
that  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  delicate  flow 
ers  that  blooms,  the  trailing  arbutus,  would  blos 
som  in  this  inhospitable  climate,  and  peep  forth 
from  the  edge  of  a  snow-bank  at  that. 

It  seems  unaccountable  to  a  superficial  observer 
that  the  thousands  of  people  who  are  dissatisfied 
with  their  climate  do  not  seek  a  more  congenial 
one  —  or  stop  grumbling.  The  world  is  so  small, 
and  all  parts  of  it  are  so  accessible,  it  has  so 
many  varieties  of  climate,  that  one  could  surely 
suit  himself  by  searching ;  and,  then,  is  it  worth 


114  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

while  to  waste  our  one  short  life  in  the  midst  of 
unpleasant  surroundings  and  in  a  constant  friction 
with  that  which  is  disagreeable?  One  would 
suppose  that  people  set  down  on  this  little  globe 
would  seek  places  on  it  most  agreeable  to  them 
selves.  It  must  be  that  they  are  much  more 
content  with  the  climate  and  country  upon  which 
they  happen,  by  the  accident  of  their  birth,  than 
they  pretend  to  be. 

III. 

HOME  sympathies  and  charities  are  most  active 
in  the  winter.  Coming  in  from  my  late  walk,  — 
in  fact  driven  in  by  a  hurrying  north-wind  that 
would  brook  no  delay,  —  a  wind  that  brought 
snow  that  did  not  seem  to  fall  out  of  a  bounteous 
sky,  but  to  be  blown  from  polar  fields,  —  I  find 
the  Mistress  returned  from  town,  all  in  a  glow 
of  philanthropic  excitement. 

There  has  been  a  meeting  of  a  woman's  asso 
ciation  for  Ameliorating  the  Condition  of  some 
body —  here  at  home.  Any  one  can  belong  to 
it  by  paying  a  dollar,  and  for  twenty  dollars  one 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  115 

can  become  a  life  Ameliorator,  —  a  sort  of  life 
assurance.  The  Mistress,  at  the  meeting,  I 
believe,  "  seconded  the  motion "  several  times, 
and  is  one  of  the  Vice- Presidents  ;  and  this  fam 
ily  honor  makes  me  feel  almost  as  if  I  were  a 
president  of  something  myself.  These  little  dis 
tinctions  are  among  the  sweetest  things  in  life, 
and  to  see  one's  name  officially  printed  stimu 
lates  his  charity,  and  is  almost  as  satisfactory  as 
being  the  chairman  of  a  committee  or  the  mover 
of  a  resolution.  It  is,  I  think,  fortunate,  and  not 
at  all  discreditable,  that  our  little  vanity,  which 
is  reckoned  among  our  weaknesses,  is  thus  made 
to  contribute  to  the  activity  of  our  nobler  powers. 
Whatever  we  may  say,  we  all  of  us  like  distinc 
tion  ;  and  probably  there  is  no  more  subtle  flat 
tery  than  that  conveyed  in  the  whisper,  "  That 's 
he,"  "That's  she." 

There  used  to  be  a  society  for  ameliorating 
the  condition  of  the  Jews  ;  but  they  were  found 
to  be  so  much  more  adept  than  other  people  in 
ameliorating  their  own  condition  that  I  suppose 
it  was  given  up.  Mandeville  says  that  to  his 
knowledge  there  are  a  great  many  people  who 


Il6  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

get  up  ameliorating  enterprises  merely  to  be  con 
spicuously  busy  in  society,  or  to  earn  a  little 
something  in  a  good  cause.  They  seem  to  think 
that  the  world  owes  them  a  living  because  they 
are  philanthropists.  In  this  Mandeville  does  not 
speak  with  his  usual  charity.  It  is  evident  that 
there  are  Jews,  and  some  Gentiles,  whose  condi 
tion  needs  ameliorating,  and  if  very  little  is  really 
accomplished  in  the  effort  for  them,  it  always 
remains  true  that  the  charitable  reap  a  ben 
efit  to  themselves.  It  is  one  of  the  beautiful 
compensations  of  this  life  that  no  one  can  sin 
cerely  try  to  help  another  without  helping 
himself. 

OUR  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOR.  Why  is  it  that 
almost  all  philanthropists  and  reformers  are  dis 
agreeable  ? 

I  ought  to  explain  who  our  next-door  neighbor 
is.  He  is  the  person  who  comes  in  without 
knocking,  drops  in  in  the  most  natural  way,  as 
his  wife  does  also,  and  not  seldom  in  time  to 
take  the  after-dinner  cup  of  tea  before  the  fire. 
Formal  society  begins  as  soon  as  you  lock  your 
doors,  and  only  admit  visitors  through  the  media 


BA  CKL OG  S TUDIES.  \  \  7 

of  bells  and  servants.  It  is  lucky  for  us  that  our 
next-door  neighbor  is  honest. 

THE  PARSON.  Why  do  you  class  reformers 
and  philanthropists  together  ?  Those  usually 
called  reformers  are  not  philanthropists  at  all. 
They  are  agitators.  Finding  the  world  disagree 
able  to  themselves,  they  wish  to  make  it  as 
unpleasant  to  others  as  possible. 

MANDEVILLE.  That 's  a  noble  view  of  your 
fellow-men. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Well,  granting  the  distinc 
tion,  why  are  both  apt  to  be  unpleasant  people 
to  live  with  ? 

THE    PARSON.     As   if   the   unpleasant   people 

•_ 
who  won't  mind  their  own  business  were  confined 

to  the  classes  you  mention  !  Some  of  the  best 
people  I  know  are  philanthropists,  —  I  mean  the 
genuine  ones,  and  not  the  uneasy  busybodies 
seeking  notoriety  as  a  means  of  living. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  It  is  not  altogether  the 
not  minding  their  own  business.  Nobody  does 
that.  The  usual  explanation  is,  that  people  with 
one  idea  are  tedious.  But  that  is  not  all  of  it. 
For  few  persons  have  more  than  one  idea, — 


Il8  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

ministers,  doctors,  lawyers,  teachers,  manufac 
turers,  merchants,  —  they  all  think  the  world 
they  live  in  is  the  central  one. 

MANDEVILLE.  And  you  might  add  authors. 
To  them  nearly  all  the  life  of  the  world  is  in 
letters,  and  I  suppose  they  would  be  astonished 
if  they  knew  how  little  the  thoughts  of  the 
majority  of  people  are  occupied  with  books, 
and  with  all  that  vast  thought-circulation  which 
is  the  vital  current  of  the  world  to  book-men. 
Newspapers  have  reached  their  present  power  by 
becoming  unliterary,  and  reflecting  all  the  inter 
ests  of  the  world. 

THE  MISTRESS.  I  have  noticed  one  thing,  that 
the  most  popular  persons  in  society  are  those 
who  take  the  world  as  it  is,  find  the  least  fault, 
and  have  no  hobbies.  They  are  always  wanted 
to  dinner. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  And  the  other  kind 
always  appear  to  me  to  want  a  dinner. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
real  reason  why  reformers  and  some  philanthro 
pists  are  unpopular  is,  that  they  disturb  our 
serenity  and  make  us  conscious  of  our  own  short- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


comings.  It  is  only  now  and  then  that  a  whole 
people  get  a  spasm  of  reformatory  fervor,  -  of 
investigation  and  regeneration.  At  other  times 
they  rather  hate  those  who  disturb  their  quiet. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Professional  reformers  and 
philanthropists  are  insufferably  conceited  and 
intolerant. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Everything  depends  upon  the 
spirit  in  which  a  reform  or  a  scheme  of  philan 
thropy  is  conducted. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  attended  a  protracted  con 
vention  of  reformers  of  a  certain  evil,  once,  and 
had  the  pleasure  of  taking  dinner  with  a  table 
ful  of  them.  It  was  one  of  those  country  din 
ners  accompanied  with  green  tea.  Every  one 
disagreed  with  every  one  else,  and  you  would  n't 
wonder  at  it,  if  you  had  seen  them.  They  were 
people  with  whom  good  food  would  n't  agree. 
George  Thompson  was  expected  at  the  conven 
tion,  and  I  remember  that  there  was  almost  a 
cordiality  in  the  talk  about  him,  until  one  sallow 
brother  casually  mentioned  that  George  took 
snuff,  —  when  a  chorus  of  deprecatory  groans 
went  up  from  the  table.  One  long-faced  maiden 


I2O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

in  spectacles,  with  purple  ribbons  in  her  hair, 
who  drank  five  cups  of  tea  by  my  count,  declared 
that  she  was  perfectly  disgusted,  and  did  n't 
want  to  hear  him  speak.  In  the  course  of  the 
meal  the  talk  ran  upon  the  discipline  of  children, 
and  how  to  administer  punishment.  I  was  quite 
taken  by  the  remark  of  a  thin,  dyspeptic  man 
who  summed  up  the  matter  by  growling  out  in  a 
harsh,  deep  bass  voice,  "  Punish  'em  in  love  ! " 
It  sounded  as  if  he  had  said,  "  Shoot  'em  on  the 
spot ! " 

THE  PARSON.  I  supposed  you  would  say  that 
he  was  a  minister.  There  is  another  thing  about 
those  people.  I  think  they  are  working  against 
the  course  of  nature.  Nature  is  entirely  indif 
ferent  to  any  reform.  She  perpetuates  a  fault  as 
persistently  as  a  virtue.  There  's  a  split  in  my 
thumb-nail  that  has  been  scrupulously  continued 
for  many  years,  notwithstanding  all  my  efforts 
to  make  the  nail  resume  its  old  regularity.  You 
see  the  same  thing  in  trees  whose  bark  is  cut, 
and  in  melons  that  have  had  only  one  summer's 
intimacy  with  squashes.  The  bad  traits  in  char 
acter  are  passed  down  from  generation  to  genera-  • 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  \2l 

tion  with  as  much  care  as  the  good  ones. 
Nature,  unaided,  never  reforms  anything. 

MANDEVILLE.  Is  that  the  essence  of  Calvin 
ism  ? 

THE  PARSON.  Calvinism  has  n't  any  essence, 
—  it 's  a  fact. 

MANDEVILLE.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  always 
associated  Calvinism  and  calomel  together.  I 
thought  that  homoeopathy  —  similia,  etc.  —  had 
done  away  with  both  of  them. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR  (rising}.  If  you  are  going 
into  theology,  I  'm  off. 


IV. 


I  FEAR  we  are  not  getting  on  much  with  the 
joyousness  of  winter.  In  order  to  be  exhilarating 
it  must  be  real  winter.  I  have  noticed  that  the 
lower  the  thermometer  sinks  the  more  fiercely 
the  north-wind  rages,  and  the  deeper  the  snow 
is  -the  higher  rise  the  spirits  of  the  community. 
The  activity  of  the  "  elements"  has  a  great  effect 
upon  country  folk  especially  ;  and  it  is  a  more 


122  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

wholesome  excitement  than  that  caused  by  a 
great  conflagration.  The  abatement  of  a  snow 
storm  that  grows  to  exceptional  magnitude  is 
regretted,  for  there  is  always  the  half-hope  that 
this  will  be,  since  it  has  gone  so  far,  the  largest 
fall  of  snow  ever  known  in  the  region,  burying 
out  of  sight  the  great  fall  of  1808,  the  account 
of  which  is  circumstantially  and  aggravatingly 
thrown  in  our  way  annually  upon  the  least  prov 
ocation.  We  all  know  how  it  reads :  "  Some 
said  it  began  at  daylight,  others  that  it  set 
in  after  sunrise ;  but  all  agree  that  by  eight 
o'clock  Friday  morning  it  was  snowing  in  heavy 
masses  that  darkened  the  air." 

The  morning  after  we  settled  the  five  —  or 
is  it  seven  ?  —  points  of  Calvinism,  there  began 
a  very  hopeful  snow-storm,  one  of  those  wide- 
sweeping,  careering  storms  that  may  not  much 
affect  the  city,  but  which  strongly  impress  the 
country  imagination  with  a  sense  of  the  personal 
qualities  of  the  weather,  —  power,  persistency, 
fierceness,  and  roaring  exultation.  Out-doors 
was  terrible  to  those  who  looked  out  of  windows, 
and  heard  the  raging  wind,  and  saw  the  commo- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  123 

tion  in  all  the  high  tree-tops  and  the  writhing  of 
the  low  evergreens,  and  could  not  summon  reso 
lution  to  go  forth  and  breast  and  conquer  the 
bluster.  The  sky  was  dark  with  snow,  which 
was  not  permitted  to  fall  peacefully  like  a  blessed 
mantle,  as  it  sometimes  does,  but  was  blown  and 
rent  and  tossed  like  the  split  canvas  of  a  ship  in 
a  gale.  The  world  was  taken  possession  of  by 
the  demons  of  the  air,  who  had  their  will  of  it. 
There  is  a  sort  of  fascination  in  such  a  scene, 
equal  to  that  of  a  tempest  at  sea,  and  without  its 
attendant  haunting  sense  of  peril ;  there  is  no 
fear  that  the  house  will  founder  or  dash  against 
your  neighbor's  cottage,  which  is  dimly  seen 
anchored  across  the  field  ;  at  every  thundering 
onset  there  is  no  fear  that  the  cook's  galley  will 
upset,  or  the  screw  break  loose  and  smash 
through  the  side,  and  we  are  not  in  momently 
expectation  of  the  tinkling  of  the  little  bell  to 
"  stop  her."  The  snow  rises  in  drifting  waves, 
and  the  naked  trees  bend  like  strained  masts  ; 
but  so  long  as  the  window-blinds  remain  fast,  and 
the  chimney-tops  do  not  go,  we  preserve  an 
equal  mind.  Nothing  more  serious  can  happen 


124  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

than  the  failure  of  the  butcher's  and  the  grocer's 
carts,  unless,  indeed,  the  little  news-carrier  should 
fail  to  board  us  with  the  world's  daily  bulletin, 
or  our  next-door  neighbor  should  be  deterred 
from  coming  to  sit  by  the  blazing,  excited  fire, 
and  interchange  the  trifling,  harmless  gossip  of 
the  day.  The  feeling  of  seclusion  on  such  a  day 
is  sweet,  but  the  true  friend  who  does  brave  the 
storm  and  come  is  welcomed  with  a  sort  of 
enthusiasm  that  his  arrival  in  pleasant  weather 
would  never  excite.  The  snow-bound  in  their 
Arctic  hulk  are  glad  to  see  even  a  wandering 
Esquimau. 

On  such  a  day  I  recall  the  great  snow-storms 
on  the  northern  New  England  hills,  which  lasted 
for  a  week  with  no  cessation,  with  no  sunrise  or 
sunset,  and  no  observation  at  noon  ;  and  the  sky 
all  the  while  dark  with  the  driving  snow,  and  the 
whole  world  full  of  the  noise  of  the  rioting  Boreal 
forces  ;  until  the  roads  were  obliterated,  the  fences 
covered,  and  the  snow  was  piled  solidly  above  the 
first-story  windows  of  the  farm-house  on  one 
side,  and  drifted  before  the  front  door  so  high 
that  egress  could  only  be  had  by  tunnelling  the 
bank. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  125 

After  such  a  battle  and  siege,  when  the  wind 
fell  and  the  sun  struggled  out  again,  the  pallid 
world  lay  subdued  and  tranquil,  and  the  scattered 
dwellings  were  not  unlike  wrecks  stranded  by  the 
tempest  and  half  buried  in  sand.  But  when  the 
blue  sky  again  bent  over  all,  the  wide  expanse  of 
snow  sparkled  like  diamond-fields,  and  the  chim 
ney  signal-smokes  could  be  seen,  how  beautiful 
was  the  picture  !  Then  began  the  stir  abroad, 
and  the  efforts  to  open  up  communication 
through  roads,  or  fields,  or  wherever  paths 
could  be  broken,  and  the  ways  to  the  meeting 
house  first  of  all.  Then  from  every  house  and 
hamlet  the  men  turned  out  with  shovels,  with  the 
patient,  lumbering  oxen  yoked  to  the  sleds,  to 
break  the  roads,  driving  into  the  deepest  drifts, 
shovelling  and  shouting  as  if  the  severe  labor 
were  a  holiday  frolic,  the  courage  and  the  hilarity 
rising  with  the  difficulties  encountered  ;  and  re 
lief  parties,  meeting  at  length  in  the  midst  of  the 
wide  white  desolation,  hailed  each  other  as  chance 
explorers  in  new  lands,  and  made  the  whole  coun 
try-side  ring  with  the  noise  of  their  congratula 
tions.  There  was  as  much  excitement  and  healthy 


126  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

stirring  of  the  blood  in  it  as  in  the  Fourth  of  July, 
and  perhaps  as  much  patriotism.  The  boy  saw  it 
in  dumb  show  from  the  distant,  low  farm-house 
window,  and  wished  he  were  a  man.  At  night 
there  were  great  stories  of  achievement  told  by 
the  cavernous  fireplace  ;  great  latitude  was  per 
mitted  in  the  estimation  of  the  size  of  particular 
drifts,  but  never  any  agreement  was  reached  as 
to  the  "  depth  on  a  level."  I  have  observed  since 
that  people  are  quite  as  apt  to  agree  upon  the 
marvellous  and  the  exceptional  as  upon  simple 
facts. 


V. 


BY  the  firelight  and  the  twilight,  the  Young 
Lady  is  finishing  a  letter  to  Herbert,  —  writing 
it,  literally,  on  her  knees,  transforming  thus  the 
simple  deed  into  an  act  of  devotion.  Mandeville 
says  that  it  is  bad  for  her  eyes,  but  the  sight  of  it 
is  worse  for  his  eyes.  He  begins  to  doubt  the 
wisdom  of  reliance  upon  that  worn  apothegm 
about  absence  conquering  love.  Memory  has  the 
singular  characteristic  of  recalling  in  a  friend 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  127 

absent,  as  in  a  journey  long  past,  only  that  which 
is  agreeable.  Mandeville  begins  to  wish  he  were 
in  New  South  Wales. 

I  did  intend  to  insert  here  a  letter  of  Herbert's 
to  the  Young  Lady,  —  obtained,  I  need  not  say, 
honorably,  as  private  letters  which  get  into  print 
always  are,  —  not  to  gratify  a  vulgar  curiosity, 
but  to  show  how  the  most  unsentimental  and 
cynical  people  are  affected  by  the  master  passion. 
But  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  do  it.  Even  in  the 
interests  of  science  one  has  no  right  to  make 
an  autopsy  of  two  loving  hearts,  especially  when 
they  are  suffering  under  a  late  attack  of  the  one 
agreeable  epidemic.  All  the  world  loves  a  lover, 
but  it  laughs  at  him  none  the  less  in  his  extrava 
gances.  He  loses  his  accustomed  reticence  ;  he 
has  something  of  the  martyr's  willingness  for  pub 
licity ;  he  would  even  like  to  show  the  sincerity  of 
his  devotion  by  some  piece  of  open  heroism.  Why 
should  he  conceal  a  discovery  which  has  trans 
formed  the  world  to  him,  a  secret  which  explains 
all  the  mysteries  of  nature  and  humanity  ?  He  is 
in  that  ecstasy  of  mind  which  prompts  those  who 
were  never  orators  before  to  rise  in  an  experience- 


128  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

meeting  and  pour  out  a  flood  of  feeling  in  the 
tritest  language  and  the  most  conventional  terms. 
I  am  not  sure  that  Herbert,  while  in  this  glow, 
would  be  ashamed  of  his  letter  in  print,  but  this 
is  one  of  the  cases  where  chancery  would  step  in 
and  protect  one  from  himself  by  his  next  friend. 
This  is  really  a  delicate  matter,  and  perhaps  it  is 
brutal  to  allude  to  it  at  all. 

In  truth,  the  letter  would  hardly  be  interesting 
in  print.  Love  has  a  marvellous  power  of  vivify 
ing  language  and  charging  the  simplest  words 
with  the  most  tender  meaning,  of  restoring  to 
them  the  power  they  had  when  first  coined.  They 
are  words  of  fire  to  those  two  who  know  their 
secret,  but  not  to  others.  It  is  generally  admit 
ted  that  the  best  love-letters  would  not  make  very 
good  literature.  "  Dearest,"  begins  Herbert,  in  a 
burst  of  originality,  felicitously  selecting  a  word 
whose  exclusiveness  shuts  out  all  the  world  but 
one,  and  which  is  a  whole  letter,  poem,  confes 
sion,  and  creed  in  one  breath.  What  a  weight 
of  meaning  it  has  to  carry  !  There  may  be 
beauty  and  wit  and  grace  and  naturalness  and 
even  the  splendor  of  fortune  elsewhere,  but  there 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  129 

is  one  woman  in  the  world  whose  sweet  presence 
would  be  compensation  for  the  loss  of  all  else.  It 
is  not  to  be  reasoned  about ;  he  wants  that  one  ; 
it  is  her  plume  dancing  down  the  sunny  street 
that  sets  his  heart  beating  ;  he  knows  her  form 
among  a  thousand,  and  follows  her  ;  he  longs  to 
run  after  her  carriage,  which  the  cruel  coachman 
whirls  out  of  his  sight.  It  is  marvellous  to  him 
that  all  the  world  does  not  want  her  too,  and  he 
is  in  a  panic  when  he  thinks  of  it.  And  what 
exquisite  flattery  is  in  that  little  word  addressed 
to  her,  and  with  what  sweet  and  meek  triumph 
she  repeats  it  to  herself,  with  a  feeling  that  is  not 
altogether  pity  for  those  who  still  stand  and  wait. 
To  be  chosen  out  of  all  the  available  world  —  it 
is  almost  as  much  bliss  as  it  is  to  choose.  "All 
that  long,  long  stage-ride  from  Blim's  to  Portage 
I  thought  of  you  every  moment,  and  wondered 
what  you  were  doing  and  how  you  were  looking 
just  that  moment,  and  I  found  the  occupation  so 
charming  that  I  was  almost  sorry  when  the  jour 
ney  was  ended."  Not  much  in  that !  But  I  have 
no  doubt  the  Young  Lady  read  it  over  and  over, 
and  dwelt  also  upon  every  moment,  and  found  in 


130  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

it  new  proof  of  unshaken  constancy,  and  had  in 
that  and  the  like  things  in  the  letter  a  sense  of 
the  sweetest  communion.  There  is  nothing  in 
this  letter  that  we  need  dwell  on  it,  but  I  am 
convinced  that  the  mail  does  not  carry  any  other 
letters  so  valuable  as  this  sort. 

I  suppose  that  the  appearance  of  Herbert  in 
this  new  light  unconsciously  gave  tone  a  little  to 
the  evening's  talk  ;  not  that  anybody  mentioned 
him,  but  Mandeville  was  evidently  generalizing 
from  the  qualities  that  make  one  person  admired 
by  another  to  those  that  win  the  love  of  man 
kind. 

MANDEVILLE.  There  seems  to  be  something 
in  some  persons  that  wins  them  liking,  special  or 
general,  independent  almost  of  what  they  do  or 
say. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Why,  everybody  is  liked  by 
some  one. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  'm  not  sure  of  that.  There 
are  those  who  are  friendless,  and  would  be  if 
they  had  endless  acquaintances.  But,  to  take 
the  case  away  from  ordinary  examples,  in  which 
habit  and  a  thousand  circumstances  influence 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  131 

liking,  what  is  it  that  determines  the  world  upon 
a  personal  regard  for  authors  whom  it  has  never 
seen  ? 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Probably  it  is  the  spirit 
shown  in  their  writings. 

THE  MISTRESS.  More  likely  it  is  a  sort  of  tra 
dition  ;  I  don't  believe  that  the  world  has  a  feel 
ing  of  personal  regard  for  any  author  who  was 
not  loved  by  those  who  knew  him  most  inti 
mately. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Which  comes  to  the  same 
thing.  The  qualities,  the  spirit,  that  got  him  the 
love  of  his  acquaintances  he  put  into  his  books. 

MANDEVILLE.  That  does  n't  seem  to  me  suf 
ficient.  Shakespeare  has  put  everything  into 
his  plays  and  poems,  swept  the  whole  range  of 
human  sympathies  and  passions,  and  at  times  is 
inspired  by  the  sweetest  spirit  that  ever  man 
had. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  No  one  has  better  inter 
preted  love. 

MANDEVILLE.  Yet  I  apprehend  that  no  per 
son  living  has  any  personal  regard  for  Shake 
speare,  or  that  his  personality  affects  many,  — 


132  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

except  they  stand  in  Stratford  church,  and  feel  a 
sort  of  awe  at  the  thought  that  the  bones  of  the 
greatest  poet  are  so  near  them. 

THE  PARSON.  I  don't  think  the  world  cares 
personally  for  any  mere  man  or  woman  dead  for 
centuries. 

MANDEVILLE.  ''But  there  is  a  difference.  I 
think  there  is  still  rather  a  warm  feeling  for 
Socrates  the  man,  independent  of  what  he  said, 
which  is  little  known.  Homer's  works  are  cer 
tainly  better  known,  but  no  one  cares  person 
ally  for  Homer  any  more  than  for  any  other 
shade. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Why  not  go  back  to  Moses  ? 
We  've  got  the  evening  before  us  for  digging  up 
people. 

MANDEVILLE.  Moses  is  a  very  good  illustra 
tion.  No  name  of  antiquity  is  better  known, 
and  yet  I  fancy  he  does  not  awaken  the  same 
kind  of  popular  liking  that  Socrates  does. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Fudge!  You  just  get  up 
in  any  lecture  assembly  and  propose  three  cheers 
for  Socrates,  and  see  where  you  '11  be.  Mande- 
ville  ought  to  be  a  missionary,  and  read  Robert 
Browning  to  the  Fijis. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


133 


THE  FIRE-TENDER.  How  do  you  account  for 
the  alleged  personal  regard  for  Socrates  ? 

THE  PARSON.  Because  the  world  called  Chris 
tian  is  still  more  than  half  heathen. 

MANDEVILLE.  He  was  a  plain  man  ;  his  sym 
pathies  were  with  the  people  ;  he  had  what  is 
roughly  known  as  "horse-sense,"  and  he  was 
homely.  Franklin  and  Abraham  Lincoln  be 
long  to  his  class.  They  were  all  philosophers 
of  the  shrewd  sort,  and  they  all  had  humor. 
It  was  fortunate  for  Lincoln  that,  with  his 
other  qualities,  he  was  homely.  That  was  the 
last  touching  recommendation  to  the  popular 
heart. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Do  you  remember  that  ugly 
brown-stone  statue  of  St.  Antonino  by  the  bridge 
in  Sorrento  ?  He  must  have  been  a  coarse  saint, 
patron  of  pigs  as  he  was,  but  I  don't  know  any 
one  anywhere,  or  the  homely  stone  image  of  one, 
so  loved  by  the  people. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Ugliness  being  trump,  I 
wonder  more  people  don't  win.  Mandeville,  why 
don't  you  get  up  a  "centenary"  of  Socrates,  and 
put  up  his  statue  in  the  Central  Park?  It  would 


134  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

make  that  one  of  Lincoln  in  Union  Square  look 
beautiful. 

THE  PARSON.  O,  you  '11  see  that  some  day, 
when  they  have  a  museum  there  illustrating  the 
"  Science  of  Religion." 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Doubtless,  to  go  back  to 
what  we  were  talking  of,  the  world  has  a  fond 
ness  for  some  authors,  and  thinks  of  them  with 
an  affectionate  and  half-pitying  familiarity  ;  and 
it  may  be  that  this  grows  out  of  something  in 
their  lives  quite  as  much  as  anything  in  their 
writings.  There  seems  to  be  more  disposition 
of  personal  liking  to  Thackeray  than  to  Dickens, 
now  both  are  dead,  —  a  result  that  would  hardly 
have  been  predicted  when  the  world  was  cry 
ing  over  Little  Nell,  or  agreeing  to  hate  Becky 
Sharpe. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  What  was  that  you  were 
telling  about  Charles  Lamb,  the  other  day,  Man- 
deville  ?  Is  not  the  popular  liking  for  him  some 
what  independent  of  his  writings  ? 

MANDEVILLE.  He  is  a  striking  example  of  an 
author  who  is  loved.  Very  likely  the  remem 
brance  of  his  tribulations  has  still  something  to 


BACKLOG   STUDIES.  135 

do  with  the  tenderness  felt  for  him.  He  sup 
ported  no  dignity,  and  permitted  a  familiarity 
which  indicated  no  self-appreciation  of  his  real 
rank  in  the  world  of  letters.  I  have  heard  that 
his  acquaintances  familiarly  called  him  "  Charley." 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  It 's  a  relief  to  know  that ! 
Do  you  happen  to  know  what  Socrates  was 
called  ? 

MANDEVILLE.  I  have  seen  people  who  knew 
Lamb  very  well.  One  of  them  told  me,  as  illus 
trating  his  want  of  dignity,  that  as  he  was  going 
home  late  one  night  through  the  nearly  empty 
streets,  he  was  met  by  a  roystering  party  who 
were  making  a  night  of  it  from  tavern  to  tavern. 
They  fell  upon  Lamb,  attracted  by  his  odd  figure 
and  hesitating  manner,  and,  hoisting  him  on  their 
shoulders,  carried  him  off,  singing  as  they  went. 
Lamb  enjoyed  the  lark,  and  did  not  tell  them 
who  he  was.  When  they  were  tired  of  lugging 
him,  they  lifted  him,  with  much  effort  and  diffi 
culty,  to  the  top  of  a  high  wall,  and  left  him  there 
amid  the  broken  bottles,  utterly  unable  to  get 
down.  Lamb  remained  there  philosophically  in 
the  enjoyment  of  his  novel  adventure,  until  a 


136 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


passing  watchman  rescued  him  from  his  ridicu 
lous  situation. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  How  did  the  story  get 
out  ? 

MANDEVILLE.  O,  Lamb  told  all  about  it  next 
morning;  and  when  asked  afterwards  why  he  did 
so,  he  replied  that  there  was  no  fun  in  it  unless 
he  told  it. 


HE  King  sat  in  the  winter-house  in 
the  ninth  month,  and  there  was  a 
fire  on  the  hearth  burning  before 

him When    Jehudi    had    read    three    or 

four  leaves  he  cut  it  with  the  penknife. 

That  seems  to  be  a  pleasant  and  home-like 
picture  from  a  not  very  remote  period, — less 
than  twenty-five  hundred  years  ago,  and  many 
centuries  after  the  fall  of  Troy.  And  that  was 
not  so  very  long  ago,  for  Thebes,  in  the  splendid 
streets  of  which  Homer  wandered  and  sang  to 
the  kings  when  Memphis,  whose  ruins  are  older 
than  history,  was  its  younger  rival,  was  twelve 
centuries  old  when  Paris  ran  away  with  Helen. 
I  am  sorry  that  the  original  —  and  you  can 


138  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

usually  do  anything  with  the  "original"  —  does 
not  bear  me  out  in  saying  that  it  was  a  pleasant 
picture.  I  should  like  to  believe  that  Jehoiakim 
—  for  that  was  the  singular  name  of  the  gentle 
man  who  sat  by  his  hearthstone  —  had  just  re 
ceived  the  Memphis  "  Palimpsest,"  fifteen  days  in 
advance  of  the  date  of  its  publication,  and  that 
his  secretary  was  reading  to  him  that  monthly, 
and  cutting  its  leaves  as  he  read.  I  should  like 
to  have  seen  it  in  that  year  when  Thales  was 
learning  astronomy  in  Memphis,  and  Necho  was 
organizing  his  campaign  against  Carchemish.  If 
Jehoiakim  took  the  "Attic  Quarterly,"  he  might 
have  read  its  comments  on  the  banishment  of  the 
Alcmaeonidae,  and  its  gibes  at  Solon  for  his  pro 
hibitory  laws,  forbidding  the  sale  of  unguents, 
limiting  the  luxury  of  dress,  and  interfering  with 
the  sacred  rights  of  mourners  to  passionately 
bewail  the  dead  in  the  Asiatic  manner  ;  the  same 
number  being  enriched  with  contributions  from 
two  rising  poets,  —  a  lyric  of  love  by  Sappho, 
and  an  ode  sent  by  Anacreon  from  Teos,  with 
an  editorial  note  explaining  that  the  MAGA  was 
not  responsible  for  the  sentiments  of  the  poem. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


139 


But,  in  fact,  the  gentleman  who  sat  before  the 
backlog  in  his  winter-house  had  other  things  to 
think  of.  For  Nebuchadnezzar  was  coming  that 
way  with  the  chariots  and  horses  of  Babylon  and 
a  great  crowd  of  marauders;  and  the  king  had 
not  even  the  poor  choice  whether  he  would  be 
the  vassal  of  the  Chaldean  or  of  the  Egyptian. 
To  us,  this  is  only  a  ghostly  show  of  monarchs 
and  conquerors  stalking  across  vast  historic 
spaces.  It  was  no  doubt  a  vulgar  enough  scene 
of  war  and  plunder.  The  great  captains  of  that 
age  went  about  to  harry  each  other's  territories 
and  spoil  each- other's  cities  very  much  as  we  do 
nowadays,  and  for  similar  reasons ;  —  Napoleon 
the  Great  in  Moscow,  Napoleon  the  Small  in 
Italy,  Kaiser  William  in  Paris,  Great  Scott  in 
Mexico  !  Men  have  not  changed  much. 

—  The  Fire-Tender  sat  in  his  winter-garden  in 
the  third  month  ;  there  was  a  fire  on  the  hearth 
burning  before  him.  He  cut  the  leaves  of  "  Scrib- 
ner's  Monthly"  with  his  penknife,  and  thought  of 
Jehoiakim. 

That  seems  as  real  as  the  other.  In  the  gar 
den,  which  is  a  room  of  the  house,  the  tall  callas, 


140  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

rooted  in  the  ground,  stand  about  the  fountain  ; 
the  sun,  streaming  through  the  glass,  illumines 
the  many-hued  flowers.  I  wonder  what  Jehoia- 
kim  did  with  the  mealy-bug  on  his  passion-vine, 
and  if  he  had  any  way  of  removing  the  scale-bug 
from  his  African  acacia  ?  One  would  like  to 
know,  too,  how  he  treated  the  red-spider  on  the 
Le  Marque  rose.  The  record  is  silent.  I  do 
not  doubt  he  had  all  these  insects  in  his  winter- 
garden,  and  the  aphidae  besides  ;  and  he  could 
not  smoke  them  out  with  tobacco,  for  the  world 
had  not  yet  fallen  into  its  second  stage  of  the 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil  by  eating  the  for 
bidden  tobacco-plant. 

I  confess  that  this  little  picture  of  a  fire  on  the 
hearth  so  many  centuries  ago  helps  to  make  real 
and  interesting  to  me  that  somewhat  misty  past. 
No  doubt  the  lotus  and  the  acanthus  from  the 
Nile  grew  in  that  winter-house,  and  perhaps  Je- 
hoiakim  attempted  —  the  most  difficult  thing  in 
the  world — the  cultivation  of  the  wild-flowers 
from  Lebanon.  Perhaps  Jehoiakim  was  interested 
also,  as  I  am  through  this  ancient  fireplace,  — 
which  is  a  sort  of  domestic  window  into  the  an- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  141 

cient  world,  —  in  the  loves  of  Bernice  and  Abaces 
at  the  court  of  the  Pharaohs.  I  see  that  it  is  the 
same  thing  as  the  sentiment  —  perhaps  it  is  the 
shrinking  which  every  soul  that  is  a  soul  has, 
sooner  or  later,  from  isolation  —  which  grew  up 
between  Herbert  and  the  Young  Lady  Staying 
With  Us.  Jeremiah  used  to  come  in  to  that  fire 
side  very  much  as  the  Parson  does  to  ours.  The 
Parson,  to  be  sure,  never  prophesies,  but  he  grum 
bles,  and  is  the  chorus  in  the  play  that  sings  the 
everlasting  ai  ai  of  "  I  told  you  so  !  "  Yet  we  like 
the  Parson.  He  is  the  sprig  of  bitter  herb  that 
makes  the  pottage  wholesome.  I  should  rather, 
ten  times  over,  dispense  with  the  flatterers  and 
the  smooth-sayers  than  the  grumblers.  But  the 
grumblers  are  of  two  sorts,  —  the  healthful-toned 
and  the  whiners.  There  are  makers  of  beer  who 
substitute  for  the  clean  bitter  of  the  hops  some 
deleterious  drug,  and  then  seek  to  hide  the  fraud 
by  some  cloying  sweet.  There  is  nothing  of  this 
sickish  drug  in  The  Parson's  talk,  nor  was  there 
in  that  of  Jeremiah.  I  sometimes  think  there  is 
scarcely  enough  of  this  wholesome  tonic  in  mod 
ern  society.  The  Parson  says  he  never  would 


142  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

give  a  child  sugar-coated  pills.  Mandeville  says 
he  never  would  give  them  any.  After  all,  you 
cannot  help  liking  Mandeville. 


II. 

WE  were  talking  of  this  late  news  from  Jeru 
salem.  The  Fire-Tender  was  saying  that  it  is 
astonishing  how  much  is  telegraphed  us  from  the 
East  that  is  not  half  so  interesting.  He  was  at  a 
loss  philosophically  to  account  for  the  fact  that  the 
world  is  so  eager  to  know  the  news  of  yesterday 
which  is  unimportant,  and  so  indifferent  to  that 
of  the  day  before  which  is  of  some  moment. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  suspect  that  it  arises  from  the 
want  of  imagination.  People  need  to  touch  the 
facts,  and  nearness  in  time  is  contiguity.  It 
would  excite  no  interest  to  bulletin  the  last  siege 
of  Jerusalem  in  a  village  where  the  event  was 
unknown,  if  the  date  was  appended  ;  and  yet  the 
account  of  it  is  incomparably  more  exciting  than 
that  of  the  siege  of  Metz. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  The  daily  news  is  a  neces 
sity.  I  cannot  get  along  without  my  morning 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


143 


paper.  The  other  morning  I  took  it  up,  and  was 
absorbed  in  the  telegraphic  columns  for  an  hour 
nearly.  I  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  feeling  of 
immediate  contact  with  all  the  world  of  yester 
day,  until  I  read  among  the  minor  items  that 
Patrick  Donahue,  of  the  city  of  New  York,  died 
of  a  sunstroke.  If  he  had  frozen  to  death,  I 
should  have  enjoyed  that;  but  to  die  of  sun 
stroke  in  February  seemed  inappropriate,  and  I 
turned  to  the  date  of  the  paper.  When  I  found 
it  was  printed  in  July,  I  need  not  say  that  I  lost 
all  interest  in  it,  though  why  the  trivialities  and 
crimes  and  accidents,  relating  to  people  I  never 
knew,  were  not  as  good  six  months  after  date  as 
twelve  hours,  I  cannot  say. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  You  know  that  in  Con 
cord  the  latest  news,  except  a  remark  or  two  by 
Thoreau  or  Emerson,  is  the  Veclas.  I  believe 
the  Rig- Veda  is  read  at  the  breakfast-table  in 
stead  of  the  Boston  journals. 

THE  PARSON.  I  know  it  is  read  afterward  in 
stead  of  the  Bible. 

MANDEVILLE.  That  is  only  because  it  is  sup 
posed  to  be  older.  I  have  understood  that  the 


144  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

Bible  is  very  well  spoken  of  there,  but  it  is  not 
antiquated  enough  to  be  an  authority. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  There  was  a  project  on 
foot  to  put  it  into  the  circulating  library,  but 
the  title  New  in  the  second  part  was  considered 
objectionable. 

HERBERT.  Well,  I  have  a  good  deal  of  sym 
pathy  with  Concord  as  to  the  news.  We  are  fed 
on  a  daily  diet  of  trivial  events  and  gossip,  of 
the  unfruitful  sayings  of  thoughtless  men  and 
women,  until  our  mental  digestion  is  seriously 
impaired  ;  the  day  will  come  when  no  one  will 
be  able  to  sit  down  to  a  thoughtful,  well-wrought 
book  and  assimilate  its  contents. 

THE  MISTRESS.  I  doubt  if  a  daily  newspa 
per  is  a  necessity,  in  the  higher  sense  of  the 
word. 

THE  PARSON.  Nobody  supposes  it  is  to  wo 
men, —  that  is,  if  they  can  see  each  other. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Don't  interrupt,  unless  you 
have  something  to  say  ;  though  I  should  like  to 
know  how  much  gossip  there  is  afloat  that  the 
minister  does  not  know.  The  newspaper  may 
be  needed  in  society,  but  how  quickly  it  drops 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  145 

out  of  mind  when  one  goes  beyond  the  bounds 
of  what  is  called  civilization.  You  remember 
when  we  were  in  the  depths  of  the  woods  last 
summer  how  difficult  it  was  to  get  up  any  inter 
est  in  the  files  of  late  papers  that  reached  us, 
and  how  unreal  all  the  struggle  and  turmoil  of 
the  world  seemed.  We  stood  apart,  and  could 
estimate  things  at  their  true  value. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  Yes,  that  was  real  life. 
I  never  tired  of  the  guide's  stories ;  there  was 
some  interest  in  the  intelligence  that  a  deer  had 
been  down  to  eat  the  lily-pads  at  the  foot  of  the 
lake  the  night  before  ;  that  a  bear's  track  was 
seen  on  the  trail  we  crossed  that  day  ;  even 
Mandeville's  fish-stories  had  a  certain  air  of 
probability ;  and  how  to  roast  a  trout  in  the 
ashes  and  serve  him  hot  and  juicy  and  clean, 
and  how  to  cook  soup  and  prepare  coffee  and 
heat  dish-water  in  one  tin-pail,  were  vital  prob 
lems. 

THE  PARSON.  You  would  have  had  no  such 
problems  at  home.  Why  will  people  go  so  far 
to  put  themselves  to  such  inconvenience  ?  I  hate 
the  woods.  Isolation  breeds  conceit  ;  there  are 


146  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

no  people  so  conceited  as  those  who  dwell  in 
remote  wildernesses  and  live  mostly  alone. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  For  my  part,  I  feel  hum 
ble  in  the  presence  of  mountains,  and  in  the  vast 
stretches  of  the  wilderness. 

THE  PARSON.  I  '11  be  bound  a  woman  would 
feel  just  as  nobody  would  expect  her  to  feel, 
under  given  circumstances. 

MANDEVJLLE.  I  think  the  reason  why  the 
newspaper  and  the  world  it  carries  take  no  hold 
of  us  in  the  wilderness  is  that  we  become  a  kind 
of  vegetable  ourselves  when  we  go  there.  I 
have  often  attempted  to  improve  my  mind  in 
the  woods  with  good  solid  books.  You  might 
as  well  offer  a  bunch  of  celery  to  an  oyster. 
The  mind  goes  to  sleep  :  the  senses  and  the 
instincts  wake  up.  The  best  I  can  do  when  it 
rains,  or  the  trout  won't  bite,  is  to  read  Dumas's 
novels.  Their  ingenuity  will  almost  keep  a  man 
awake  after  supper,  by  the  camp-fire.  And  there 
is  a  kind  of  unity  about  them  that  I  like  ;  the 
history  is  as  good  as  the  morality. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  I  always  wondered  where 
Mandeville  got  his  historical  facts. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


147 


THE  MISTRESS.  Mandeville  misrepresents 
himself  in  the  woods.  I  heard  him  one  night 
repeat  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  " 

(THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Which  comes  very  near 
being  our  best  poem.) 

—  as  we  were  crossing  the  lake,  and  the  guides 
became  so  absorbed  in  it  that  they  forgot  to 
paddle,  and  sat  listening  with  open  mouths,  as 
if  it  had  been  a  panther  story. 

THE  PARSON.  Mandeville  likes  to  show  off 
well  enough.  I'  heard  that  he  related  to  a 
woods'  boy  up  there  the  whole  of  the  Siege  of 
Troy.  The  boy  was  very  much  interested,  and 
said  "  there  'd  been  a  man  up  there  that  spring 
from  Troy,  looking  up  timber."  Mandeville  al 
ways  carries  the  news  when  he  goes  into  the 
country. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  'm  going  to  take  the  Par 
son's  sermon  on  Jonah  next  summer;  it's  the 
nearest  to  anything  like  news  we  've  had  from 
his  pulpit  in  ten  years.  But,  seriously,  the  boy 
was  very  well  informed.  He  'd  heard  of  Albany  ; 
his  father  took  in  the  Weekly  Tribune,  and  he 
had  a  partial  conception  of  Horace  Greeley. 


148  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  I  never  went  so  far  out  of 
the  world  in  America  yet  that  the  name  of  Hor 
ace  Greeley  did  n't  rise  up  before  me.  One  of 
the  first  questions  asked  by  any  camp-fire  is, 
"  Did  ye  ever  see  Horace  ?  " 

HERBERT.  Which  shows  the  power  of  the 
press  again.  But  I  have  often  remarked  how 
little  real  conception  of  the  moving  world,  as  it 
is,  people  in  remote  regions  get  from  the  news 
paper.  It  needs  to  be  read  in  the  midst  of 
events.  A  chip  cast  ashore  in  a  refluent  eddy 
tells  no  tale  of  the  force  and  swiftness  of  the 
current. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  I  don't  exactly  get  the 
drift  of  that  last  remark  ;  but  I  rather  like  a 
remark  that  I  can't  understand  ;  like  the  land 
lady's  indigestible  bread,  it  stays  by  you. 

HERBERT.  I  see  that  I  must  talk  in  words  of 
one  syllable.  The  newspaper  has  little  effect 
upon  the  remote  country  mind,  because  the  re 
mote  country  mind  is  interested  in  a  very  limited 
number  of  things.  Besides,  as  the  Parson  says, 
it  is  conceited.  The  most  accomplished  scholar 
will  be  the  butt  of  all  the  guides  in  the  woods, 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  149 

because  he  cannot  follow  a  trail  that  would  puz 
zle  a  sable  (saple  the  trappers  call  it). 

THE  PARSON.  It's  enough  to  read  the  sum 
mer  letters  that  people  write  to  the  newspapers 
from  the  country  and  the  woods.  Isolated  from 
the  activity  of  the  world,  they  come  to  think 
that  the  little  adventures  of  their  stupid  days 
and  nights  are  important.  Talk  about  that 
being  real  life  !  Compare  the  letters  such  peo 
ple  write  with  the  other  contents  of  the  news 
paper,  and  you  will  see  which  life  is  real.  That 's 
one  reason  I  hate  to  have  summer  come,  the 
country  letters  set  in. 

THE  MISTRESS.  I  should  like  to  see  some 
thing  the  Parson  doesn't  hate  to  have  come. 

MANDEVILLE.  Except  his  quarter's  salary, 
and  the  meeting  of  the  American  Board. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  I  don't  see  that  we  are 
getting  any  nearer  the  solution  of  the  original 
question.  The  world  is  evidently  interested  in 
events  simply  because  they  are  recent. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  I  have  a.  theory  that  a 
newspaper  might  be  published  at  little  cost, 
merely  by  reprinting  the  numbers  of  years  be- 


150  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

fore,  only  altering  the  dates  ;  just  as  the  Parson 
preaches  over  his  sermons. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  It 's  evident  we  must 
have  a  higher  order  of  news-gatherers.  It  has 
come  to  this,  that  the  newspaper  furnishes 
thought-material  for  all  the  world,  actually  pre 
scribes  from  day  to  day  the  themes  the  world 
shall  think  on  and  talk  about.  The  occupation 
of  news-gathering  becomes,  therefore,  the  most 
important.  When  you  think  of  it,  it  is  aston 
ishing  that  this  department  should  not  be  in  the 
hands  of  the  ablest  men,  accomplished  scholars, 
philosophical  observers,  discriminating  selectors 
of  the  news  of  the  world  that  is  worth  thinking 
over  and  talking  about  The  editorial  com 
ments  frequently  are  able  enough,  but  is  it 
worth  while  keeping  an  expensive  mill  going  to 
grind  chaff?  I  sometimes  wonder,  as  I  open  my 
morning  paper,  if  nothing  did  happen  in  the 
twenty-four  hours  except  crimes,  accidents,  defal 
cations,  deaths  of  unknown  loafers,  robberies, 
monstrous  births,  —  say  about  the  level  of  po 
lice-court  news. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.     I  have  even  noticed  that 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  151 

murders  have  deteriorated  ;  they  are  not  so  high- 
toned  and  mysterious  as  they  used  to  be. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  It  is  true  that  the  news 
papers  have  improved  vastly  within  the  last 
decade. 

HERBERT.  I  think,  for  one,  that  they  are 
very  much  above  the  level  of  the  ordinary  gos 
sip  of  the  country. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  But  I  am  tired  of  having 
the  under-world  still  occupy  so  much  room  in 
the  newspapers.  The  reporters  are  rather  more 
alert  for  a  dog-fight  than  a  philological  conven 
tion.  It  must  be  that  the  good  deeds  of  the 
world  outnumber  the  bad  in  any  given  day ; 
and  what  a  good  reflex  action  it  would  have 
on  society  if  they  could  be  more  fully  re 
ported,  than  the  bad !  I  suppose  the  Parson 
would  call  this  the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity. 

THE  PARSON.  You  '11  see  how  far  you  can 
lift  yourself  up  by  your  boot-straps. 

HERBERT.  I  wonder  what  influence  on  the 
quality  (I  say  nothing  of  quantity)  of  news  the 
coming  of  women  into  the  reporter's  and  editor's 
work  will  have. 


152  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  There  are  the  baby-shows  ; 
they  make  cheerful  reading. 

THE  MISTRESS.  All  of  them  got  up  by  specu 
lating  men,  who  impose  upon  the  vanity  of  weak 
women. 

HERBERT.  I  think  women  reporters  are  more 
given  to  personal  details  and  gossip  than  the 
men.  When  I  read  the  Washington  correspond 
ence  I  am  proud  of  my  country,  to  see  how 
many  Apollo  Belvederes,  Adonises,  how  much 
marble  brow  and  piercing  eye  and  hyacinthine 
locks,  we  have  in  the  two  houses  of  Con 
gress. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  That 's  simply  because 
women  understand  the  personal  weakness  of 
men  ;  they  have  a  long  score  of  personal  flat 
tery  to  pay  off  too. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  think  women  will  bring  in  el 
ements  of  brightness,  picturesqueness,  and  purity 
very  much  needed.  Women  have  a  power  of 
investing  simple  ordinary  things  with  a  charm  ; 
men  are  bungling  narrators  compared  with  them. 

THE  PARSON.  The  mistake  they  make  is  in 
trying  to  write,  and  especially  to  "  stump-speak," 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  153 

like  men ;  next  to  an  effeminate  man  there  is 
nothing  so  disagreeable  as  a  manish  woman. 

HERBERT.  I  heard  one  once  address  a  legisla 
tive  committee.  The  knowing  air,  the  familiar, 
jocular,  smart  manner,  the  nodding  and  winking 
innuendoes,  supposed  to  be  those  of  a  man  "  up  to 
snuff,"  and  an  fait  in  political  wiles,  were  inex 
pressibly  comical.  And  yet  the  exhibition  was 
pathetic,  for  it  had  the  suggestive  vulgarity  of  a 
woman  in  man's  clothes.  The  imitation  is  always 
a  dreary  failure. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Such  women  are  the  rare 
exceptions.  I  am  ready  to  defend  my  sex ; 
but  I  won't  attempt  to  defend  both  sexes  in 
one. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  I  have  great  hope  that 
women  will  bring  into  the  newspaper  an  elevating 
influence  ;  the  common  and  sweet  life  of  society 
is  much  better  fitted  to  entertain  and  instruct  us 
than  the  exceptional  and  extravagant.  I  confess 
(saving  the  Mistress's  presence)  that  the  evening 
talk  over  the  dessert  at  dinner  is  much  more 
entertaining  and  piquant  than  the  morning  paper, 
and  often  as  important. 


154  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

THE  MISTRESS.  I  think  the  subject  had  bet 
ter  be  changed. 

MANDEVILLE.  The  person,  not  the  subject. 
There  is  no  entertainment  so  full  of  quiet  pleas 
ure  as  the  hearing  a  lady  of  cultivation  and 
refinement  relate  her  day's  experience  in  her 
daily  rounds  of  calls,  charitable  visits,  shop 
ping,  errands  of  relief  and  condolence.  The 
evening  budget  is  better  than  the  finance  min 
ister's. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  That  's  even  so.  My  wife 
will  pick  up  more  news  in  six  hours  than  I  can 
get  in  a  week,  and  I  'm  fond  of  news. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  don't  mean  gossip,  by  any 
means,  or  scandal.  A  woman  of  culture  skims 
over  that  like  a  bird,  never  touching  it  with  the 
tip  of  a  wing.  What  she  brings  home  is  the 
freshness  and  brightness  of  life.  She  touches 
everything  so  daintily,  she  hits  off  a  character  in 
a  sentence,  she  gives  the  pith  of  a  dialogue  with 
out  tediousness,  she  mimics  without  vulgarity  ; 
her  narration  sparkles,  but  it  does  n't  sting.  The 
picture  of  her  day  is  full  of  vivacity,  and  it  gives 
new  value  and  freshness  to  common  things.  If 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  155 

we  could  only  have  on  the  stage  such  actresses 
as  we  have  in  the  drawing-room  ! 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  We  want  something  more 
of  this  grace,  sprightliness,  and  harmless  play  of 
the  finer  life  of  society  in  the  newspaper. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  I  wonder  Mandeville 
does  n't  marry,  and  become  a  permanent  sub 
scriber  to  his  embodied  idea  of  a  newspaper. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  Perhaps  he  does  not  rel 
ish  the  idea  of  being  unable  to  stop  his  subscrip 
tion. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Parson,  won't  you  please 
punch  that  fire,  and  give  us  more  blaze  ?  we  are 
getting  into  the  darkness  of  socialism. 

III. 

HERBERT  returned  to  us  in  March.  The  Young 
Lady  was  spending  the  winter  with  us,  and  March, 
in  spite  of  the  calendar,  turned  out  to  be  a  winter 
month.  It  usually  is  in  New  England,  and  April 
too,  for  that  matter.  And  I  cannot  say  it  is 
unfortunate  for  us.  There  are  so  many  topics  to 
be  turned  over  and  settled  at  our  fireside  that  a 


156  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

winter  of  ordinary  length  would  make  little 
impression  on  the  list.  The  fireside  is,  after  all, 
a  sort  of  private  court  of  chancery,  where  noth 
ing  ever  does  come  to  a  final  decision.  The 
chief  effect  of  talk  on  any  subject  is  to  strengthen 
one's  own  opinions,  and,  in  fact,  one  never  knows 
exactly  what  he  does  believe  until  he  is  warmed 
into  conviction  by  the  heat  of  attack  and  defence. 
A  man  left  to  himself  drifts  about  like  a  boat  on 
a  calm  lake  ;  it  is  only  when  the  wind  blows  that 
the  boat  goes  anywhere. 

Herbert  said  he  had  been  dipping  into  the 
recent  novels  written  by  women,  here  and  there, 
with  a  view  to  noting  the  effect  upon  literature 
of  this  sudden  and  rather  overwhelming  acces 
sion  to  it.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  talk  about 
it  evening  after  evening,  off  and  on,  and  I  can 
only  undertake  to  set  down  fragments  of  it. 

HERBERT.  I  should  say  that  the  distinguish 
ing  feature  of  the  literature  of  this  day  is  the 
prominence  women  have  in  its  production.  They 
figure  in  most  of  the  magazines,  though  very 
rarely  in  the  scholarly  and  critical  reviews,  and 
in  thousands  of  newspapers  ;  to  them  we  are 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


157 


indebted  for  the  oceans  of  Sunday-school  books, 
and  they  write  the  majority  of  the  novels,  the 
serial  stories,  and  they  mainly  pour  out  the 
watery  flood  of  tales  in  the  weekly  papers. 
Whether  this  is  to  result  in  more  good  than  evil 
it  is  impossible  yet  to  say,  and  perhaps  it  would 
be  unjust  to  say,  until  this  generation  has  worked 
off  its  froth,  and  women  settle  down  to  artistic, 
conscientious  labor  in  literature. 

THE  MISTRESS.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that 
George  Eliot,  and  Mrs.  Gaskell,  and  George 
Sand,  and  Mrs.  Browning,  before  her  marriage 
and  severe  attack  of  spiritism,  are  less  true  to  art 
than  contemporary  men  novelists  and  poets. 

HERBRET.  You  name  some  exceptions  that 
show  the  bright  side  of  the  picture,  not  only  for 
the  present,  but  for  the  future.  Perhaps  genius  has 
no  sex  ;  but  ordinary  talent  has.  I  refer  to  the 
great  body  of  novels,  which  you  would  know  by 
internal  evidence  were  written  by  women.  They 
are  of  two  sorts :  the  domestic  story,  entirely  un- 
idealized,  and  as  flavorless  as  water-gruel ;  and  the 
spiced  novel,  generally  immoral  in  tendency,  in 
which  the  social  problems  are  handled,  unhappy 


158  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

marriages,  affinity  and  passional  attraction,  bigamy, 
and  the  violation  of  the  seventh  commandment. 
These  subjects  are  treated  in  the  rawest  manner, 
without  any  settled  ethics,  with  little  discrimina 
tion  of  eternal  right  and  wrong,  and  with  very 
little  sense  of  responsibility  for  what  is  set  forth. 
Many  of  these  novels  are  merely  the  blind  out 
bursts  of  a  nature  impatient  of  restraint  and  the 
conventionalities  of  society,  and  are  as  chaotic  as 
the  untrained  minds  that  produce  them. 

MANDEVILLE.  Don't  you  think  these  novels 
fairly  represent  a  social  condition  of  unrest  and 
upheaval  ? 

HERBERT.  Very  likely ;  and  they  help  to  cre 
ate  and  spread  abroad  the  discontent  they  de 
scribe.  Stories  of  bigamy  (sometimes  disguised 
by  divorce),  of  unhappy  marriages,  where  the 
injured  wife,  through  an  entire  volume,  is  on  the 
brink  of  falling  into  the  arms  of  a  sneaking  lover, 
until  death  kindly  removes  the  obstacle,  and  the 
two  souls,  who  were  born  for  each  other,  but  got 
separated  in  the  cradle,  melt  and  mingle  into  one 
in  the  last  chapter,  are  not  healthful  reading  for 
maids  or  mothers. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  159 

THE  MISTRESS.     Or  men. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  The  most  disagreeable 
object  to  me  in  modern  literature  is  the  man 
the  women  novelists  have  introduced  as  the  lead 
ing  character;  the  women  who  come  in  contact 
with  him  seem  to  be  fascinated  by  his  disdainful 
mien,  his  giant  strength,  and  his  brutal  manner. 
He  is  broad  across  the  shoulders,  heavily  moulded, 
yet  as  lithe  as  a  cat ;  has  an  ugly  scar  across  his 
right  cheek  ;  has  been  in  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe ;  knows  seventeen  languages  ;  had  a  harem 
in  Turkey  and  a  Fayaway  in  the  Marquesas  ;  can 
be  as  polished  as  Bayard  in  the  drawing-room, 
but  is  as  gloomy" as  Conrad  in  'the  library  ;  has  a 
terrible  eye  and  a  withering  glance,  but  can  be 
instantly  subdued  by  a  woman's  hand,  if  it  is 
not  his  wife's  ;  and  through  all  his  morose  and 
vicious  career  has  carried  a  heart  as  pure  as 
a  violet. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Don't  you  think  the  Count 
of  Monte  Cristo  is  the  elder  brother  of  Ro 
chester  ? 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  One  is  a  mere  hero  of 
romance  ;  the  other  is  meant  for  a  real  man. 


160  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  don't  see  that  the  men  novel- 
writers  are  better  than  the  women. 

HERBERT.  That 's  not  the  question  ;  but  what 
are  women  who  write  so  large  a  proportion  of  the 
current  stories  bringing  into  literature  ?  Aside 
from  the  question  of  morals,  and  the  absolutely 
demoralizing  manner  of  treating  social  questions, 
most  of  their  stories  are  vapid  and  weak  beyond 
expression,  and  are  slovenly  in  composition,  show 
ing  neither  study,  training,  nor  mental  discipline. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Considering  that  women  have 
been  shut  out  from  the  training  of  the  universi 
ties,  and  have  few  opportunities  for  the  wide 
observation  that  men  enjoy,  is  n't  it  pretty  well 
that  the  foremost  living  writers  of  fiction  are 
women  ? 

HERBERT.  You  can  say  that  for  the  moment, 
since  Thackeray  and  Dickens  have  just  died. 
But  it  does  not  affect  the  general  estimate.  We 
are  inundated  with  a  flood  of  weak  writing. 
Take  the  Sunday-school  literature,  largely  the 
product  of  women  ;  it  has  n't  as  much  character 
as  a  dried  apple  pie.  I  don't  know  what  we  are 
coming  to  if  the  presses  keep  on  running. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  161 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  We  are  living,  we  are 
dwelling,  in  a  grand  and  awful  time  ;  I  'm  glad 
I  don't  write  novels. 

THE  PARSON.     So  am  I. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  I  tried  a  Sunday-school 
book  once  ;  but  I  made  the  good  boy  end  in  the 
poor-house,  and  the  bad  boy  go  to  Congress  ;  and 
the  publisher  said  it  would  n't  do,  the  public 
would  n't  stand  that  sort  of  thing.  Nobody  but 
the  good  go  to  Congress. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Herbert,  what  do  you  think 
women  are  good  for  ? 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.     That  's  a  poser. 

HERBERT.  Well,  I  think  they  are  in  a  ten 
tative  state  as  to  literature,  and  we  cannot  yet 
tell  what  they  will  do.  Some  of  our  most  bril 
liant  books  of  travel,  correspondence,  and  writ 
ing  on  topics  in  which  their  sympathies  have 
warmly  interested  them,  are  by  women.  Some 
of  them  are  also  strong  writers  in  the  daily  jour 
nals. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  'm  not  sure  there  's  anything 
a  woman  cannot  do  as  well  as  a  man,  if  she  sets 
her  heart  on  it. 


1 62  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

THE  PARSON.  That 's  because  she  's  no  con 
science. 

CHORUS.     O  Parson ! 

THE  PARSON.  Well,  it  does  n't  trouble  her,  if 
she  wants  to  do  anything.  She  looks  at  the  end, 
not  the  means.  A  woman,  set  on  anything,  will 
walk  right  through  the  moral  crockery  without 
wincing.  She  'd  be  a  great  deal  more  unscrupu 
lous  in  politics  than  the  average  man.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  female  lobbyist  ?  Or  a  criminal  ?  It 
is  Lady  Macbeth  who  does  not  falter.  Don't 
raise  your  hands  at  me  !  The  sweetest  angel  or 
the  coolest  devil  is  a  woman.  I  see  in  some  of 
the  modern  novels  we  have  been  talking  of  the 
same  unscrupulous  daring,  a  blindness  to  moral 
distinctions,  a  constant  exaltation  of  a  passion  into 
a  virtue,  an  entire  disregard  of  the  immutable 
laws  on  which  the  family  and  society  rest.  And 
you  ask  lawyers  and  trustees  how  scrupulous 
women  are  in  business  transactions ! 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Women  are  often  igno 
rant  of  affairs,  and,  besides,  they  may  have  a 
notion  often  that  a  woman  ought  to  be  privileged 
more  than  a  man  in  business  matters  ;  but  I  tell 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  163 


you,  as  a  rule,  that  if  men  would  consult  their 
wives,  they  would  go  a  deal  straighter  in  business 
operations  than  they  do  go. 

THE  PARSON.  We  are  all  poor  sinners.  But 
I  Ve  another  indictment  against  the  women  writ 
ers.  We  get  no  good  old-fashioned  love-stories 
from  them.  It  's  either  a  quarrel  of  discordant 
natures  —  one  a  panther,  and  the  other  a  polar 
bear  —  for  courtship,  until  one  of  them  is  crippled 
by  a  railway  accident ;  or  a  long  wrangle  of  mar 
ried  life  between  two  unpleasant  people,  who  can 
neither  live  comfortably  together  nor  apart.  I 
suppose,  by  what  I  see,  that  sweet  wooing,  with 
all  its  torturing  and  delightful  uncertainty,  still 
goes  on  in  the  world  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
the  majority  of  married  people  live  more  happily 
than  the  unmarried.  But  it  's  easier  to  find  a 
dodo  than  a  new  and  good  love-story. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  suppose  the  old  style  of  plot 
is  exhausted.  Everything  in  man  and  outside  of 
him  has  been  turned  over  so  often  that  I  should 
think  the  novelists  would  cease  simply  from  want 
of  material. 

THE    PARSON.     Plots  are  no  more  exhausted 


1 64  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

than  men  are.  Every  man  is  a  new  creation,  and 
combinations  are  simply  endless.  Even  if  we 
did  not  have  new  material  in  the  daily  change  of 
society,  and  there  were  only  a  fixed  number  of 
incidents  and  characters  in  life,  invention  could 
not  be  exhausted  on  them.  I  amuse  myself  some 
times  with  my  kaleidoscope,  but  I  can  never 
reproduce  a  figure.  No,  no.  I  cannot  say  that 
you  may  not  exhaust  everything  else :  we  may 
get  all  the  secrets  of  a  nature  into  a  book  by  and 
by,  but  the  novel  is  immortal,  for  it  deals  with 
men. 

The  Parson's  vehemence  came  very  near  carry 
ing  him  into  a  sermon  ;  and  as  nobody  has  the 
privilege  of  replying  to  his  sermons,  so  none  of 
the  circle  made  any  reply  now. 

Our  Next  Door  mumbled  something  about  his 
hair  standing  on  end,  to  hear  a  minister  defend 
ing  the  novel ;  but  it  did  not  interrupt  the  gen 
eral  silence.  Silence  is  unnoticed  when  people 
sit  before  a  fire  ;  it  would  be  intolerable  if  they 
sat  and  looked  at  each  other. 

The  wind  had  risen  during  the  evening,  and 
Mandeville  remarked,  as  they  rose  to  go,  that  it 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


I65 


had  a  spring  sound  in  it,  but  it  was  as  cold  as 
winter.  The  Mistress  said  she  heard  a  bird  that 
morning  singing  in  the  sun  ;  it  was  a  winter 
bird,  but  it  sang  a  spring  song. 


!E  have  been  much  interested  in  what 
is  called  the  Gothic  revival.  We 
have  spent  I  don't  know  how  many 
evenings  in  looking  over  Herbert's  plans  for  a 
cottage,  and  have  been  amused  with  his  vain 
efforts  to  cover  with  Gothic  roofs  the  vast  num 
ber  of  large  rooms  which  the  Young  Lady  draws 
in  her  sketch  of  a  small  house. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  the  Gothic,  which  is  capa 
ble  of  infinite  modification,  so  that  every  house 
built  in  that  style  may  be  as  different  from  every 
other  house  as  one  tree  is  from  every  other,  can 
be  adapted  to  our  modern  uses,  and  will  be,  when 
artists  catch  its  spirit  instead  of  merely  copying 
its  old  forms.  But  just  now  we  are  taking  the 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  167 

Gothic  very  literally,  as  we  took  the  Greek  at 
one  time,  or  as  we  should  probably  have  taken 
the  Saracenic,  if  the  Moors  had  not  been  colored. 
Not  even  the  cholera  is  so  contagious  in  this 
country  as  a  style  of  architecture  which  we  hap 
pen  to  catch  ;  the  country  is  just  now  broken  out 
all  over  with  the  Mansard-roof  epidemic. 

And  in  secular  architecture  we  do  not  study 
what  is  adapted  to  our  climate  any  more  than  in 
ecclesiastic  architecture  we  adopt  that  which  is 
suited  to  our  religion. 

We  are  building  a  great  many  costly  churches 
here  and  there,  we  Protestants,  and  as  the  most 
of  them  are  ill  adapted  to  our  forms  of  worship, 
it  may  be  necessary  and  best  for  us  to  change 
our  religion  in  order  to  save  our  investments.  I 
am  aware  that  this  would  be  a  grave  step,  and  we 
should  not  hasten  to  throw  overboard  Luther  and 
the  right  of  private  judgment  without  reflection. 
And  yet,  if  it  is  necessary  to  revive  the  ecclesi 
astical  Gothic  architecture,  not  in  its  spirit  (that 
we  nowhere  do),  but  in  the  form  which  served 
another  age  and  another  faith,  and  if,  as  it  ap 
pears,  we  have  already  a  great  deal  of  money 


l68  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

invested  in  this  reproduction,  it  may  be  more 
prudent  to  go  forward  than  to  go  back.  The 
question  is,  "Cannot  one  easier  change  his  creed 
than  his  pew  ?  " 

I  occupy  a  seat  in  church  which  is  an  admira 
ble  one  for  reflection,  but  I  cannot  see  or  hear 
much  that  is  going  on  in  what  we  like  to  call  the 
apse.  There  is  a  splendid  stone  pillar,  a  clus 
tered  column,  right  in  front  of  .me,  and  I  am  as 
much  protected  from  the  minister  as  Old  Put's 
troops  were  from  the  British,  behind  the  stone 
wall  at  Bunker's  Hill.  I  can  hear  his  voice  occa 
sionally  wandering  round  in  the  arches  overhead, 
and  I  recognize  the  tone,  because  he  is  a  friend 
of  mine  and  an  excellent  man,  but  what  he  is  say 
ing  I  can  very  seldom  make  out.  If  there  was  any 
incense  burning  I  could  smell  it,  and  that  would 
be  something.  I  rather  like  the  smell  of  incense, 
and  it  has  its  holy  associations.  But  there  is 
no  smell  in  our  church,  except  of  bad  air,  —  for 
there  is  no  provision  for  ventilation  in  the  splen 
did  and  costly  edifice.  The  reproduction  of  the 
old  Gothic  is  so  complete  that  the  builders  even 
seem  to  have  brought  over  the  ancient  air  from 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  169 

one  of  the  churches  of  the  Middle  Ages,  —  you 
would  declare  it  had  n't  been  changed  in  two 
centuries. 

I  am  expected  to  fix  my  attention  during  the 
service  upon  one  man,  who  stands  in  the  centre 
of  the  apse  and  has  a  sounding-board  behind 
him  in  order  to  throw  his  voice  out  of  the  sacred 
semicircular  space  (where  the  altar  used  to  stand, 
but  now  the  sounding-board  takes  the  place  of 
the  altar)  and  scatter  it  over  the  congregation  at 
large,  and  send  it  echoing  up  in  the  groined  roof. 
I  always  like  to  hear  a  minister  who  is  unfamiliar 
with  the  house,  and  who  has  a  loud  voice,  try  to 
fill  the  edifice.  The  more  he  roars  and  gives 
himself  with  vehemence  to  the  effort,  the  more 
the  building  roars  in  indistinguishable  noise  and 
hubbub.  By  the  time  he  has  said  (to  suppose  a 
case),  "  The  Lord  is  in  his  holy  temple,"  and  has 
passed  on  to  say,  "  let  all  the  earth  keep  silence," 
the  building  is  repeating  "  The  Lord  is  in  his 
holy  temple  "  from  half  a  dozen  different  angles 
and  altitudes,  rolling  it  and  growling  it,  and  is 
not  keeping  silence  at  all.  A  man  who  under 
stands  it  waits  until  the  house  has  had  its  say, 


i;O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

and  has  digested  one  passage,  before  he  launches 
another  into  the  vast,  echoing  spaces.  I  am 
expected,  as  I  said,  to  fix  my  eye  and  mind  on 
the  minister,  the  central  point  of  the  service. 
But  the  pillar  hides  him.  Now  if  there  were  sev 
eral  ministers  in  the  church,  dressed  in  such  gor 
geous  colors  that  I  could  see  them  at  the  distance 
from  the  apse  in  which  my  limited  income  com 
pels  me  to  sit,  and  candles  were  burning,  and 
censers  were  swinging,  and  the  platform  was 
full  of  the  sacred  bustle  of  a  gorgeous  ritual 
worship,  and  a  bell  rang  to  tell  me  the  holy 
moments,  I  should  not  mind  the  pillar  at  all.  I 
should  sit  there,  like  any  other  Goth,  and  enjoy 
it.  But,  as  I  have  said,  the  pastor  is  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  I  like  to  look  at  him  on  Sunday,  and 
hear  what  he  says,  for  he  always  says  something 
worth  hearing.  I  am  on  such  terms  with  him, 
indeed  we  all  are,  that  it  would  be  pleasant  to 
have  the  service  of  a  little  more  social  nature, 
and  more  human.  When  we  put  him  away  off 
in  the  apse,  and  set  him  up  for  a  Goth,  and 
then  seat  ourselves  at  a  distance,  scattered  about 
among  the  pillars,  the  whole  thing  seems  to  me 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


I/I 


a  trifle  unnatural.  Though  I  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  the  congregations  do  not  "enjoy  their 
religion"  in  their  splendid  edifices  which  cost  so 
much  money  and  are  really  so  beautiful. 

A  good  many  people  have  the  idea,  so  it 
seems,  that  Gothic  architecture  and  Christianity 
are  essentially  one  and  the  same  thing.  Just  as 
many  regard  it  as  an  act  of  piety  to  work  an 
altar  cloth  or  to  cushion  a  pulpit.  It  may  be, 
and  it  may  not  be. 

Our  Gothic  church  is  likely  to  prove  to  us  a 
valuable  religious  experience,  bringing  out  many 
of  the  Christian  virtues.  It  may  have  had  its 
origin  in  pride,  but  it  is  all  being  overruled  for 
our  good.  Of  course  I  need  n't  explain  that  it  is 
the  thirteenth  century  ecclesiastic  Gothic  that  is 
epidemic  in  this  country ;  and  I  think  it  has 
attacked  the  Congregational  and  the  other  non- 
ritual  churches  more  violently  than  any  others. 
We  have  had  it  here  in  its  most  beautiful  and 
dangerous  forms.  I  believe  we  are  pretty  much 
all  of  us  supplied  with  a  Gothic  church  now. 
Such  has  been  the  enthusiasm  in  this  devout 
direction,  that  I  should  not  be  surprised  to  see 


172  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

our  rich  private  citizens  putting  up  Gothic 
churches  for  their  individual  amusement  and 
sanctification.  As  the  day  will  probably  come 
when  every  man  in  Hartford  will  live  in  his  own 
mammoth,  five-story  granite  insurance  building, 
it  may  not  be  unreasonable  to  expect  that  every 
man  will  sport  his  own  Gothic  church.  It  is 
beginning  to  be  discovered  that  the  Gothic  sort 
of  church  edifice  is  fatal  to  the  Congregational 
style  of  worship  that  has  been  prevalent  here  in 
New  England  ;  but  it  will  do  nicely  (as  they  say 
in  Boston)  for  private  devotion. 

There  is  n't  a  finer  or  purer  church  than  ours 
anywhere,  inside  and  outside  Gothic  to  the  last. 
The  elevation  of  the  nave  gives  it  even  that 
"  high  -  shouldered  "  appearance  which  seemed 
more  than  anything  else  to  impress  Mr.  Haw 
thorne  in  the  cathedral  at  Amiens.  I  fancy  that 
for  genuine  high-shoulderness  we  are  not  exceed 
ed  by  any  church  in  the  city.  Our  chapel  in  the 
rear  is  as  Gothic  as  the  rest  of  it,  —  a  beautiful 
little  edifice.  The  committee  forgot  to  make  any 
more  provision  for  ventilating  that  than  the 
church,  and  it  takes  a  pretty  well-seasoned  Chris- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  173 

tian  to  stay  in  it  long  at  a  time.  The  Sunday 
school  is  held  there,  and  it  is  thought  to  be  best 
to  accustom  the  children  to  bad  air  before  they 
go  into  the  church.  The  poor  little  dears  should 
n't  have  the  wickedness  and  impurity  of  this 
world  break  on  them  too  suddenly.  If  the  stran 
ger  noticed  any  lack  about  our  church,  it  would 
be  that  of  a  spire.  There  is  a  place  for  one  ; 
indeed,  it  was  begun,  and  then  the  builders  seem 
to  have  stopped,  with  the  notion  that  it  would 
grow  itself  from  such  a  good  root.  It  is  a  mis 
take,  however,  to  suppose  that  we  do  not  know 
that  the  church  has  what  the  profane  here  call 
a  "  stump-tail "  appearance.  But  the  profane  are 
as  ignorant  of  history  as  they  are  of  true  Gothic. 
All  the  Old  World  cathedrals  were  the  work  of 
centuries.  That  at  Milan  is  scarcely  finished 
yet ;  the  unfinished  spires  of  the  Cologne  cathe 
dral  are  one  of  the  best-known  features  of  it.  I 
doubt  if  it  would  be  in  the  Gothic  spirit  to  finish 
a  church  at  once.  We  can  tell  cavillers  that  we 
shall  have  a  spire  at  the  proper  time,  and  not 
a  minute  before.  It  may  depend  a  little  upon 
what  the  Baptists  do,  who  are  to  build  near  us. 


174  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

I,  for  one,  think  we  had  better  wait  and  see  how 
high  the  Baptist  spire  is  before  we  run  ours  up. 
The  church  is  everything  that  could  be  desired 
inside.  There  is  the  nave,  with  its  lofty  and 
beautiful  arched  ceiling  ;  there  are  the  side  aisles, 
and  two  elegant  rows  of  stone  pillars,  stained  so 
as  to  be  a  perfect  imitation  of  stucco ;  there  is 
the  apse,  with  its  stained  glass  and  exquisite 
lines  ;  and  there  is  an  organ-loft  over  the  front 
entrance,  with  a  rose  window.  Nothing  was 
wanting,  so  far  as  we  could  see,  except  that  we 
should  adapt  ourselves  to  the  circumstances  ;  and 
that  we  have  been  trying  to  do  ever  since.  It 
may  be  well  to  relate  how  we  do  it,  for  the  bene 
fit  of  other  inchoate  Goths. 

It  was  found  that  if  we  put  up  the  organ  in 
the  loft,  it  would  hide  the  beautiful  rose  window. 
Besides,  we  wanted  congregational  singing,  and 
if  we  hired  a  choir,  and  hung  it  up  there  under 
the  roof,  like  a  cage  of  birds,  we  should  not  have 
congregational  singing.  We  therefore  left  the 
organ-loft  vacant,  making  no  further  use  of  it 
than  to  satisfy  our  Gothic  cravings.  As  for 
choir,  —  several  of  the  singers  of  the  church  vol- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


175 


unteered  to  sit  together  in  the  front  side-seats, 
and  as  there  was  no  place  for  an  organ,  they 
gallantly  rallied  .round  a  melodeon,  —  or  perhaps 
it  is  a  cabinet  organ,  —  a  charming  instrument, 
and,  as  everybody  knows,  entirely  in  keeping 
with  the  pillars,  arches,  and  great  spaces  of  a  real 
Gothic  edifice.  It  is  the  union  of  simplicity  with 
grandeur,  for  which  we  have  all  been  looking.  I 
need  not  say  to  those  who  have  ever  heard  a 
melodeon,  that  there  is  nothing  like  it.  It  is  rare, 
even  in  the  finest  churches  on  the  Continent. 
And  we  had  congregational  singing.  And  it 
went  very  well  indeed.  One  of  the  advantages 
of  pure  congregational  singing  is  that  you  can 
join  in  the  singing  whether  you  have  a  voice  or 
not.  The  disadvantage  is,  that  your  neighbor 
can  do  the  same.  It  is  strange  what  an  uncom 
monly  poor  lot  of  voices  there  is,  even  among 
good  people.  But  we  enjoy  it.  If  you  do  not 
enjoy  it,  you  can  change  your  seat  until  you  get 
among  a  good  lot. 

So  far,  everything  went  well.  But  it  was  next 
discovered  that  it  was  difficult  to  hear  the  minis 
ter,  who  had  a  very  handsome  little  desk  in  the 


I/O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

apse,  somewhat  distant  from  the  bulk  of  the  con 
gregation  ;  still,  we  could  most  of  us  see  him  on  a 
clear  day.  The  church  was  admirably  built  for 
echoes,  and  the  centre  of  the  house  was  very 
favorable  to  them.  When  you  sat  in  the  centre 
of  the  house,  it  sometimes  seemed  as  if  three 
or  four  ministers  were  speaking.  It  is  usually  so 
in  cathedrals ;  the  Right  Reverend  So-and-So  is 
assisted  by  the  very  Reverend  Such-and-Such, 
and  the  good  deal  Reverend  Thus-and-Thus,  and 
so  on.  But  a  good  deal  of  the  minister's  voice 
appeared  to  go  up  into  the  groined  arches,  and, 
as  there  was  no  one  up  there,  some  of  his  best 
things  were  lost.  We  also  had  a  notion  that 
some  of  it  went  into  the  cavernous  organ-loft. 
It  would  have  been  all  right  if  there  had  been  a 
choir  there,  for  choirs  usually  need  more  preach 
ing,  and  pay  less  heed  to  it,  than  any  other  part 
of  the  congregation.  Well,  we  drew  a  sort  of 
screen  over  the  organ-loft ;  but  the  result  was  not 
as  marked  as  we  had  hoped.  We  next  devised  a 
sounding-board,  —  a  sort  of  mammoth  clam-shell, 
painted  white,  and  erected  it  behind  the  minis 
ter.  It  had  a  good  effect  on  the  minister.  It 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  177 

kept  him  up  straight  to  his  work.  So  long  as 
he  kept  his  head  exactly  in  the  focus,  his  voice 
went  out  and  did  not  return  to  him  ;  but  if  he 
moved  either  way  he  was  assailed  by  a  Babel  of 
clamoring  echoes.  There  was  no  opportunity  for 
him  to  splurge  about  from  side  to  side  of  the 
pulpit,  as  some  do.  And  if  he  raised  his  voice 
much,  or  attempted  any  extra  flights,  he  was 
liable  to  be  drowned  in  a  refluent  sea  of  his  own 
eloquence.  And  he  could  hear  the'  congregation 
as  well  as  they  could  hear  him.  All  the  coughs, 
whispers,  noises,  were  gathered  in  the  wooden 
tympanum  behind  him,  and  poured  into  his  ears. 
But  the  sounding-board  was  an  improvement, 
and  we  advanced  to  bolder  measures ;  having 
heard  a  little,  we  wanted  to  hear  more.  Besides, 
those  who  sat  in  front  began  to  be  discontented 
with  the  melodeon.  There  are  depths  in  music 
which  the  melodeon,  even  when  it  is  called  a 
cabinet  organ,  with  a  colored  boy  at  the  bellows, 
cannot  sound.  The  melodeon  was  not,  originally, 
designed  for  the  Gothic  worship.  We  determined 
to  have  an  organ,  and  we  speculated  whether,  by 
erecting  it  in  the  apse,  we  could  not  fill  up  that 


178  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

elegant  portion  of  the  church,  and  compel  the 
preacher's  voice  to  leave  it,  and  go  out  over  the 
pews.  It  would  of  course  do  something  to  efface 
the  main  beauty  of  a  Gothic  church  ;  but  some 
thing  must  be  done,  and  we  began  a  series  of 
experiments  to  test  the  probable  effects  of  putting 
the  organ  and  choir  behind  the  minister.  We 
moved  the  desk  to  the  very  front  of  the  platform, 
and  erected  behind  it  a  high,  square  board  screen, 
like  a  section  of  tight  fence  round  the  fair-grounds. 
This  did  help  matters.  The  minister  spoke  with 
more  ease,  and  we  could  hear  him  better.  If  the 
screen  had  been  intended  to  stay  there,  we  should 
have  agitated  the  subject  of  painting  it.  But  this 
was  only  an  experiment. 

Our  next  move  was  to  shove  the  screen  back 
and  mount  the  volunteer  singers,  melodeon  and 
all,  upon  the  platform,  —  some  twenty  of  them 
crowded  together  behind  the  minister.  The 
effect  was  beautiful.  It  seemed  as  if  we  had 
taken  care  to  select  the  finest-looking  people  in 
the  congregation,  —  much  to  the  injury  of  the 
congregation,  of  course,  as  seen  from  the  plat 
form.  There  are  few  congregations  that  can 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


1/9 


stand  this  sort  of  culling,  though  ours  can  en 
dure  it  as  well  as  any  ;  yet  it  devolves  upon  those 
of  us  who  remain  the  responsibility  of  looking  as 
well  as  we  can.  The  experiment  was  a  success, 
so  far  as  appearances  went,  but  when  the  screen 
went  back,  the  minister's  voice  went  back  with  it. 
We  could  not  hear  him  very  well,  though  we 
could  hear  the  choir  as  plain  as  day.  We  have 
thought  of  remedying  this  last  defect  by  putting 
the  high  screen  in  front  of  the  singers,  and  close 
to  the  minister,  as  it  was  before.  This  would  make 
the  singers  invisible,  —  "  though  lost  to  sight,  to 
memory  dear,"  —  what  is  sometimes  called  an 
"  angel  choir,"  when  the  singers  (and  the  melo- 
deon)  are  concealed,  with  the  most  subdued 
and  religious  effect.  It  is  often  so  in  cathedrals. 
This  plan  would  have  another  advantage.  The 
singers  on  the  platform,  all  handsome  and  well 
dressed,  distract  our  attention  from  the  minister, 
and  what  he  is  saying.  We  cannot  help  looking 
at  them,  studying  all  the  faces  and  all  the  dresses. 
If  one  of  them  sits  up  very  straight,  he  is  a  re 
buke  to  us  ;  if  he  "  lops  "  over,  we  wonder  why 
he  does  n't  sit  up  ;  if  his  hair  is  white,  we  wonder 
whether  it  is  age  or  family  peculiarity ;  if  he 


i8o 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


yawns,  we  want  to  yawn  ;  if  he  takes  up  a  hymn- 
book,  we  wonder  if  he  is  uninterested  in  the 
sermon  ;  we  look  at  the  bonnets,  and  query  if 
that  is  the  latest  spring  style,  or  whether  we  are 
to  look  for  another  ;  if  he  shaves  close,  we  wonder 
why  he  does  n't  let  his  beard  grow  ;  if  he  has  long 
whiskers,  we  wonder  why  he  does  n't  trim  'em  ;  if 
she  sighs,  we  feel  sorry  ;  if  she  smiles,  we  would 
like  to  know  what  it  is  about.  And,  then,  sup 
pose  any  of  the  singers  should  ever  want  to  eat 
fennel,  or  peppermints,  or  Brown's  troches,  and 
pass  them  round  !  Suppose  the  singers,  more  or 
less  of  them,  should  sneeze  !  Suppose  one  or  two 
of  them,  as  the  handsomest  people  sometimes  will, 
should  go  to  sleep !  In  short,  the  singers  there 
take  away  all  our  attention  from  the  minister,  and 
would  do  so  if  they  were  the  homeliest  people  in 
the  world.  We  must  try  something  else. 

It  is  needless  to  explain  that  a  Gothic  religious 
life  is  not  an  idle  one. 


ERHAPS  the  clothes  question  is  ex 
hausted,  philosophically.  I  cannot  but 
regret  that  the  Poet  of  the  Breakfast- 
Table,  who  appears  to  have  an  uncontrolla- 
\>\z.  penchant  for  saying  the  things  you  would  like 
to  say  yourself,  has  alluded  to  the  anachro 
nism  of  "Sir  Cceur  de  Lion  Plantagenet  in  the 
mutton-chop  whiskers  and  the  plain  gray  suit." 
A  great  many  scribblers  have  felt  the  disadvan 
tage  of  writing  after  Montaigne;  and  it  is  impos 
sible  to  tell  how  much  originality  in  others  Dr. 
Holmes  has  destroyed  in  this  country.  In  whist 
there  are  some  men  you  always  prefer  to  have  on 
your  left  hand,  and  I  take  it  that  this  intuitive 
essayist,  who  is  so  alert  to  seize  the  few  remain- 


1 82  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

ing  unappropriated  ideas  and  analogies  in  the 
world,  is  one  of  them. 

No  doubt  if  the  Plantagenets  of  this  day  were 
required  to  dress  in  a  suit  of  chain-armor  and 
wear  iron  pots  on  their  heads,  they  would  be  as 
ridiculous  as  most  tragedy  actors  on  the  stage. 
The  pit  which  recognizes  Snooks  in  his  tin 
breastplate  and  helmet  laughs  at  him,  and  Snooks 
himself  feels  like  a  sheep  ;  and  when  the  great 
tragedian  comes  on,  shining  in  mail,  dragging  a 
two-handed  sword,  and  mouths  the  grandiloquence 
which  poets  have  put  into  the  speech  of  heroes, 
the  dress-circle  requires  all  its  good-breeding  and 
its  feigned  love  of  the  traditionary  drama  not  to 
titter. 

If  this  sort  of  acting,  which  is  supposed  to 
have  come  down  to  us  from  the  Elizabethan  age, 
and  which  culminated  in  the  school  of  the  Keans, 
Kembles,  and  Siddonses,  ever  had  any  fidelity 
to  life,  it  must  have  been  in  a  society  as  artifi 
cial  as  the  prose  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  That 
anybody  ever  believed  in  it  is  difficult  to  think, 
especially  when  we  read  what  privileges  the 
fine  beaux  and  gallants  of  the  town  took  behind 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  183 

the  scenes  and  on  the  stage  in  the  golden  days 
of  the  drama.  When  a  part  of  the  audience  sat 
on  the  stage,  and  gentlemen  lounged  or  reeled 
across  it  in  the  midst  of  a  play,  to  speak  to 
acquaintances  in  the  audience,  the  illusion  could 
not  have  been  very  strong. 

Now  and  then  a  genius,  like  Rachel  as  Hora- 
tia,  or  Hackett  as  Falstaff,  may  actually  seem  to 
be  the  character  assumed  by  virtue  of  a  trans 
forming  imagination,  but  I  suppose  the  fact  to 
be  that  getting  into  a  costume,  absurdly  anti 
quated  and  remote  from  all  the  habits  and  asso 
ciations  of  the  actor,  largely  accounts  for  the 
incongruity  and  ridiculousness  of  most  of  our 
modern  acting.  Whether  what  is  called  the 
"legitimate  drama"  ever  was  legitimate  we  do  not 
know,  but  the  advocates  of  it  appear  to  think 
that  the  theatre  was  some  time  cast  in  a  mould, 
once  for  all,  and  is  good  for  all  times  and  peo 
ples,  like  the  propositions  of  Euclid.  To  our 
eyes  the  legitimate  drama  of  to-day  is  the  one 
in  which  the  day  is  reflected,  both  in  costume 
and  speech,  and  which  touches  the  affections, 
the  passions,  the  humor,  of  the  present  time. 


184  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

The  brilliant  success  of  the  few  good  plays  that 
have  been  written  out  of  the  rich  life  which  we 
now  live  —  the  most  varied,  fruitful,  and  dra 
matically  suggestive  —  ought  to  rid  us  forever 
of  the  buskin-fustian,  except  as  a  pantomimic  or 
spectacular  curiosity. 

We  have  no  objection  to  Julius  Caesar  or  Rich 
ard  III.  stalking  about  in  impossible  clothes,  and 
stepping  four  feet  at  a  stride,  if  they  want  to,  but 
let  them  not  claim  to  be  more  "legitimate"  than 
"  Ours  "  or  "  Rip  Van  Winkle."  There  will  prob 
ably  be  some  orator  for  years  and  years  to  come, 
at  every  Fourth  of  July,  who  will  go  on  asking, 
Where  is  Thebes  ?  but  he  does  not  care  any 
thing  about  it,  and  he  does  not  really  expect  an 
answer.  I  have  sometimes  wished  I  knew  the 
exact  site  of  Thebes,  so  that  I  could  rise  in  the 
audience,  and  stop  that  question,  at  any  rate. 
It  is  legitimate,  but  it  is  tiresome. 

If  we  went  to  the  bottom  of  this  subject,  I 
think  we  should  find  that  the  putting  upon  actors' 
clothes  to  which  they  are  unaccustomed  makes 
them  act  and  talk  artificially,  and  often  in  a  man 
ner  intolerable.  An  actor  who  has  not  the  habits 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  185 

or  instincts  of  a  gentleman  cannot  be  made  to 
appear  like  one  on  the  stage  by  dress  ;  he  only 
caricatures  and  discredits  what  he  tries  to  repre 
sent  ;  and  the  unaccustomed  clothes  and  situa 
tion  make  him  much  more  unnatural  and  insuf 
ferable  than  he  would  otherwise  be.  Dressed 
appropriately  for  parts  for  which  he  is  fitted,  he 
will  act  well  enough,  probably.  What  I  mean  is, 
that  the  clothes  inappropriate  to  the  man  make 
the  incongruity  of  him  and  his  part  more  appar 
ent.  Vulgarity  is  never  so  conspicuous  as  in 
fine  apparel,  on  or  off  the  stage,  and  never  so 
self-conscious.  Shall  we  have,  then,  no  refined 
characters  on  the  stage  ?  Yes  ;  but  let  them  be 
taken  by  men  and  women  of  taste  and  refine 
ment,  and  let  us  have  done  with  this  masquerad 
ing  in  false  raiment,  ancient  and  modern,  which 
makes  nearly  every  stage  a  travesty  of  nature 
and  the  whole  theatre  a  painful  pretension.  We 
do  not  expect  the  modern  theatre  to  be  a  place 
of  instruction  (that  business  is  now  turned  over 
to  the  telegraphic  operator,  who  is  making  a 
new  language),  but  it  may  give  amusement  in 
stead  of  torture,  and  do  a  little  in  satirizing  folly 


1 86  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

and  kindling  love  of  home  and  country  by  the 
way. 

This  is  a  sort  of  summary  of  what  we  all  said, 
and  no  one  in  particular  is  responsible  for  it ; 
and  in  this  it  is  like  public  opinion.  The  Par 
son,  however,  whose  only  experience  of  the  thea 
tre  was  the  endurance  of  an  oratorio  once,  was 
very  cordial  in  his  denunciation  of  the  stage 
altogether. 

MANDEVILLE.  Yet,  acting  itself  is  delightful ; 
nothing  so  entertains  us  as  mimicry,  the  person 
ation  of  character.  We  enjoy  it  in  private.  I 
confess  that  I  am  always  pleased  with  the  Par 
son  in  the  character  of  grumbler.  He  would  be 
an  immense  success  on  the  stage.  I  don't  know 
but  the  theatre  will  have  to  go  back  into  the 
hands  of  the  priests,  who  once  controlled  it. 

THE  PARSON.     Scoffer  ! 

MANDEVILLE.  I  can  imagine  how  enjoyable 
the  stage  might  be,  cleared  of  all  its  traditionary 
nonsense,  stilted  language,  stilted  behavior,  all 
the  rubbish  of  false  sentiment,  false  dress,  and 
the  manners  of  times  that  were  both  artificial 
and  immoral,  and  filled  with  living  characters, 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  187 

who  speak  the  thought  of  to-day,  with  the  wit 
and  culture  that  are  current  to-day.  I  Ve  seen 
private  theatricals,  where  all  the  performers  were 
persons  of  cultivation,  that  — 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  So  have  I.  For  some 
thing  particularly  cheerful,  commend  me  to  ama 
teur  theatricals.  I  have  passed  some  melancholy 
hours  at  them. 

MANDEVILLE.  That 's  because  the  performers 
acted  the  worn  stage  plays,  and  attempted  to  do 
them  in  the  manner  they  had  seen  on  the  stage. 
It  is  not  always  so. 

THE  FIRE -TENDER.  I  suppose  Mandeville 
would  say  that  acting  has  got  into  a  mannerism 
which  is  well  described  as  stagey  ;  and  is  sup 
posed  to  be  natural  to  the  stage,  just  as  half  the 
modern  poets  write  in  a  recognized  form  of  lit 
erary  manufacture,  without  the  least  impulse  from 
within,  and  not  with  the  purpose  of  saying  any 
thing,  but  of  turning  out  a  piece  of  literary  work. 
That 's  the  reason  we  have  so  much  poetry  that 
impresses  one  like  sets  of  faultless  cabinet-furni 
ture  made  by  machinery. 

THE  PARSON.     But  you  need  n't  talk  of  nature 


1 88  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

or  naturalness  in  acting  or  in  anything.  I  tell 
you  nature  is  poor  stuff.  It  can't  go  alone. 
Amateur  acting  —  they  get  it  up  at  church  socia 
bles  nowadays  —  is  apt  to  be  as  near  nature  as  a 
school-boy's  declamation.  Acting  is  the  Devil's 
art. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Do  you  object  to  such  inno 
cent  amusement  ? 

MANDEVILLE.  What  the  Parson  objects  to  is, 
that  he  is  n't  amused. 

THE  PARSON.  What's  the  use  of  objecting? 
It 's  the  fashion  of  the  day  to  amuse  people  into 
the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

HERBERT.  The  Parson  has  got  us  off  the 
track.  My  notion  about  the  stage  is,  that  it  keeps 
along  pretty  evenly  with  the  rest  of  the  world  ; 
the  stage  is  usually  quite  up  to  the  level  of  the 
audience.  Assumed  dress  on  the  stage,  since 
you  were  speaking  of  that,  makes  people  no 
more  constrained  and  self-conscious  than  it 
does  off  the  stage. 

THE  MISTRESS.  What  sarcasm  is  coming 
now  ? 

HERBERT.     Well,     you    may   laugh,    but    the 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  189 

world  has  n't  got  used  to  good  clothes  yet. 
The  majority  do  not  wear  them  with  ease. 
People  who  only  put  on  their  best  on  rare  and 
stated  occasions  step  into  an  artificial  feeling. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  I  wonder  if  that  's  the 
reason  the  Parson  finds  it  so  difficult  to  get 
hold  of  his  congregation. 

HERBERT.  I  don't  know  how  else  to  account 
for  the  formality  and  vapidity  of  a  set  "  party," 
where  all  the  guests  are  clothed  in  a  manner  to 
which  they  are  unaccustomed,  dressed  into  a 
condition  of  vivid  self-consciousness.  The  same 
people,  who  know  each  other  perfectly  well, 
will  enjoy  themselves  together  without  restraint 
in  their  ordinary  apparel.  But  nothing  can  be 
more  artificial  than  the  behavior  of  people  to 
gether  who  rarely  "  dress  up."  It  seems  impos 
sible  to  make  the  conversation  as  fine  as  the 
clothes,  and  so  it  dies  in  a  kind  of  inane  helpless 
ness.  Especially  is  this  true  in  the  country, 
where  people  have  not  obtained  the  mastery  of 
their  clothes  that  those  who  live  in  the  city  have. 
It  is  really  absurd,  at  this  stage  of  our  civiliza 
tion,  that  we  should  be  so  affected  by  such  an 


IQO  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

insignificant  accident  as  dress.  Perhaps  Mande- 
ville  can  tell  us  whether  this  clothes  panic  pre 
vails  in  the  older  societies. 

THE  PARSON.  Don't.  We  Ve  heard  it ;  about 
its  being  one  of  the  Englishman's  thirty-nine 
articles  that  he  never  shall  sit  down  to  dinner 
without  a  dress-coat,  and  all  that. 

THE  MISTRESS.  I  wish,  for  my  part,  that 
everybody  who  has  time  to  eat  a  dinner  would 
dress  for  that,  the  principal  event  of  the  day,  and 
do  respectful  and  leisurely  justice  to  it. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  It  has  always  seemed  sin 
gular  to  me  that  men  who  work  so  hard  to  build 
elegant  houses,  and  have  good  dinners,  should 
take  so  little  leisure  to  enjoy  either. 

MANDEVILLE.  If  the  Parson  will  permit  me,  I 
should  say  that  the  chief  clothes  question  abroad 
just  now  is,  how  to  get  any  ;  and  it  is  the  same 
with  the  dinners. 

II. 

IT  is  quite  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  talk 
about  clothes  ran  into  the  question  of  dress- 
reform,  and  ran  out,  of  course.  You  cannot 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  191 

converse  on  anything  nowadays  that  you  do  not 
run  into  some  reform.  The  Parson  says  that 
everybody  is  intent  on  reforming  everything  but 
himself.  We  are  all  trying  to  associate  ourselves 
to  make  everybody  else  behave  as  we  do.  Said 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Dress  reform  !  As  if  peo 
ple  could  n't  change  their  clothes  without  concert 
of  action.  Resolved,  that  nobody  should  put  on 
a  clean  collar  oftener  than  his  neighbor  does. 
I  'm  sick  of  every  sort  of  reform.  I  should  like 
to  retrograde  awhile.  Let  a  dyspeptic  ascer 
tain  that  he  can  eat  porridge  three  times  a  day 
and  live,  and  straightway  he  insists  that  every 
body  ought  to  eat  porridge  and  nothing  else.  I 
mean  to  get  up  a  society  every  member  of  which 
shall  be  pledged  to  do  just  as  he  pleases. 

THE  PARSON.  That  would  be  the  most  radical 
reform  of  the  day.  That  would  be  independence. 
If  people  dressed  according  to  their  means,  acted 
according  to  their  convictions,  and  avowed  their 
opinions,  it  would  revolutionize  society. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  I  should  like  to  walk  into 
your  church  some  Sunday  and  see  the  changes 
under  such  conditions. 


IQ2  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

THE  PARSON.  It  might  give  you  a  novel  sen 
sation  to'  walk  in  at  any  time.  And  I  'm  not 
sure  but  the  church  would  suit  your  retrograde 
ideas.  It  's  so  Gothic  that  a  Christian  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  if  he  were  alive,  could  n't  see  or 
hear  in  it. 

HERBERT.  I  don't  know  whether  these  reform 
ers  who  carry  the  world  on  their  shoulders  in 
such  serious  fashion,  especially  the  little  fussy 
fellows,  who  are  themselves  the  standard  of  the 
regeneration  they  seek,  are  more  ludicrous  than 
pathetic. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  Pathetic,  by  all  means. 
But  I  don't  know  that  they  would  be  pathetic 
if  they  were  not  ludicrous.  There  are  those 
reform  singers  who  have  been  piping  away 
so  sweetly  now  for  thirty  years,  with  never 
any  diminution  of  cheerful,  patient  enthusi-"* 
asm  ;  their  hair  growing  longer  and  longer,  their 
eyes  brighter  and  brighter,  and  their  faces,  I 
do  believe,  sweeter  and  sweeter ;  singing  always 
with  the  same  constancy  for  the  slave,  for  the 
drunkard,  for  the  snuff-taker,  for  the  suffragist,  — 
"There  's-a-good-time-com-ing-boys  (nothing  of- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  193 

fensive  is  intended  by  "  boys,"  it  is  put  in  for  eu 
phony,  and  sung  pianissimo,  not  to  offend  the 
suffragists),  it  's-almost-here."  And  what  a  bright 
ening  up  of  their  faces  there  is  when  they  say, 
"  it  's-al-most-here,"  not  doubting  for  a  moment 
that  "  it  's  "  coming  to-morrow  ;  and  the  accom 
panying  melodeon  also  wails  its  wheezy  sugges 
tion  that  " it  's-al-most-here,"  that  "good-time" 
(delayed  so  long,  waiting  perhaps  for  the  inven 
tion  of  the  melodeon)  when  we  shall  all  sing  and 
all  play  that  cheerful  instrument,  and  all  vote, 
and  none  shall  smoke,  or  drink,  or  eat  meat, 
"  boys."  I  declare  it  almost  makes  me  cry  to 
hear  them,  so  touching  is  their  faith  in  the 
midst  of  a  jeering  world. 

HERBERT.  I  suspect  that  no  one  can  be  a 
genuine  reformer  and  not  be  ridiculous.  I  mean 
"those  who  give  themselves  up  to  the  unction  of 
the  reform. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Does  n't  that  depend  upon 
whether  the  reform  is  large  or  petty  ? 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  I  should  say  rather  that 
the  reforms  attracted  to  them  all  the  ridiculous 
people,  who  almost  always  manage  to  become 


194  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

the  most  conspicuous.  I  suppose  that  nobody 
dare  write  out  all  that  was  ludicrous  in  the  great 
abolition  movement.  But  it  was  not  at  all  comi 
cal  to  those  most  zealous  in  it  ;  they  never  could 
see  —  more  's  the  pity,  for  thereby  they  lose 
much  —  the  humorous  side  of  their  perform 
ances,  and  that  is  why  the  pathos  overcomes 
one's  sense  of  the  absurdity  of  such  people. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  It  is  lucky  for  the  world 
that  so  many  are  willing  to  be  absurd. 

HERBERT.  Well,  I  think  that,  in  the  main, 
the  reformers  manage  to  look  out  for  themselves 
tolerably  well.  I  knew  once  a  lean  and  faithful 
agent  of  a  great  philanthropic  scheme,  who  con 
trived  to  collect  every  year  for  the  cause  just 
enough  to  support  him  at  a  good  hotel  com 
fortably. 

THE  MISTRESS.  That  's  identifying  one's  self 
with  the  cause. 

MANDEVILLE.  You  remember  the  great  free- 
soil  convention  at  Buffalo,  in  1848,  when  Van 
Buren  was  nominated.  All  the  world  of  hope 
and  discontent  went  there,  with  its  projects  of 
reform.  There  seemed  to  be  no  doubt,  among 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  195 

hundreds  that  attended  it,  that  if  they  could  get 
a  resolution  passed  that  bread  should  be  buttered 
on  both  sides,  that  it  would  be  so  buttered.  The 
platform  provided  for  every  want  and  every  woe. 

THE  FJ RE-TENDER.  I  remember.  If  you  could 
get  the  millennium  by  political  action,  we  should 
have  had  it  then. 

MANDEVILLE.  We  went  there  on  the  Erie 
Canal,  the  exciting  and  fashionable  mode  of  travel 
in  those  days.  I  was  a  boy  when  we  began  the 
voyage.  The  boat  was  full  of  conventionists  ; 
all  the  talk  was  of  what  must  be  done  there.  I 
got  the  impression  that  as  that  boat-load  went  so 
would  go  the  convention  ;  and  I  was  not  alone  in 
that  feeling.  I  can  never  be  enough  grateful  for 
one  little  scrubby  fanatic  who  was  on  board,  who 
spent  most  of  his  time  in  drafting  resolutions  and 
reading  them  privately  to  the  passengers.  He 
was  a  very  enthusiastic,  nervous,  and  somewhat 
dirty  little  man,  who  wore  a  woollen  muffler  about 
bis  throat,  although  it  was  summer  ;  he  had 
nearly  lost  his  voice,  and  could  only  speak  in  a 
hoarse,  disagreeable  whisper,  and  he  always  car 
ried  a  teacup  about,  containing  some  sticky  com- 


1 95  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

pound  which  he  stirred  frequently  with  a  spoon, 
and  took,  whenever  he  talked,  in  order  to  improve 
his  voice.  If  he  was  separated  from  his  cup  for 
ten  minutes  his  whisper  became  inaudible.  I 
greatly  delighted  in  him,  for  I  never  saw  any  one 
who  had  so  much  enjoyment  of  his  own  impor 
tance.  He  was  fond  of  telling  what  he  would  do 
if  the  convention  rejected  such  and  such  resolu 
tions.  He  'd  make  it  hot  for  'em.  I  did  n't  know 
but  he  'd  make  them  take  his  mixture.  The  con 
vention  had  got  to  take  a  stand  on  tobacco,  for 
one  thing.  He'd  heard  Giddings  took  snuff; 
he  'd  see.  When  we  at  length  reached  Buffalo 
he  took  his  teacup  and  carpet-bag  of  resolutions 
and  went  ashore  in  a  great  hurry.  I  saw  him 
once  again  in  a  cheap  restaurant,  whispering  a 
resolution  to  another  delegate,  but  he  did  n't 
appear  in  the  convention.  I  have  often  won 
dered  what  became  of  him. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Probably  he  's  consul  some 
where.  They  mostly  are. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  After  all,  it  's  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  to  sit  and  sneer  at  eccentrici 
ties.  But  what  a  dead  and  uninteresting  world  it 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  197 

would  be  if  we  were  all  proper,  and  kept  within 
the  lines !  Affairs  would  soon  be  reduced  to 
mere  machinery.  There  are  moments,  even 
days,  when  all  interests  and  movements  appear 
to  be  settled  upon  some  universal  plan  of  equi 
librium  ;  but  just  then  some  restless  and  absurd 
person  is  inspired  to  throw  the  machine  out  of 
gear.  These  individual  eccentricities  seem  to  be 
the  special  providences  in  the  general  human 
scheme. 

HERBERT.  They  make  it  very  hard  work  for 
the  rest  of  us,  who  are  disposed  to  go  along 
peaceably  and  smoothly. 

MANDEVILLE.  And  stagnate.  I  'm  not  sure 
but  the  natural  condition  of  this  planet  is  war, 
and  that  when  it  is  finally  towed  to  its  anchorage 
—  if  the  universe  has  any  harbor  for  worlds  out 
of  commission  —  it  will  look  like  the  Fighting 
Temeraire  in  Turner's  picture. 

HERBERT.  There  is  another  thing  I  should 
like  to  understand  :  the  tendency  of  people  who 
take  up  one  reform,  perhaps  a  personal  regen 
eration  in  regard  to  some  bad  habit,  to  run 
into  a  dozen  other  isms,  and  get  all  at  sea  in 


198  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

several  vague  and  pernicious  theories  and  prac 
tices. 

MANDEVILLE.  Herbert  seems  to  think  there 
is  safety  in  a  man's  being  anchored,  even  if  it  is 
to  a  bad  habit. 

HERBERT.  Thank  you.  But  what  is  it  in 
human  nature  that  is  apt  to  carry  a  man  who 
may  take  a  step  in  personal  reform  into  so  many 
extremes  ? 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.    Probably  it's  human  nature. 

HERBERT.  Why,  for  .  instance,  should  a  re 
formed  drunkard  (one  of  the  noblest  examples  of 
victory  over  self)  incline,  as  I  have  known  the 
reformed  to  do,  to  spiritism,  or  a  woman  suf 
fragist  to  "  pantarchism"  (whatever  that  is),  and 
want  to  pull  up  all  the  roots  of  society,  and 
expect  them  to  grow  in  the  air,  like  orchids  ;  or 
a  Graham-bread  disciple  become  enamored  of 
Communism  ? 

MANDEVILLE.  I  know  an  excellent  Conserva 
tive  who  would,  I  think,  suit  you  ;  he  says  that 
he  does  not  see  how  a  man  who  indulges  in  the 
theory  and  practice  of  total  abstinence  can  be  a 
consistent  believer  in  the  Christian  religion. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  199 

HERBERT.  Well,  I  can  understand  what  he 
means :  that  a  person  is  bound  to  hold  himself  in 
conditions  of  moderation  and  control,  using  and 
not  abusing  the  things  of  this  world,  practising 
temperance,  not  retiring  into  a  convent  of  artifi 
cial  restrictions  in  order  to  escape  the  full  re 
sponsibility  of  self-control.  And  yet  his  theory 
would  certainly  wreck  most  men  and  women. 
What  does  the  Parson  say  ? 

THE  PARSON.  That  the  world  is  going  crazy 
on  the  notion  of  individual  ability.  Whenever  a 
man  attempts  to  reform  himself,  or  anybody  else, 
without  the  aid  of  the  Christian  religion,  he  is 
sure  to  go  adrift,  and  is  pretty  certain  to  be 
blown  about  by  absurd  theories,  and  shipwrecked 
on  some  pernicious  ism. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  I  think  .the  discussion 
has  touched  bottom. 


III. 


I  NEVER  felt  so  much  the  value  of  a  house  with 
a  backlog  in  it  as  during  the  late  spring  ;  for  its 
lateness  was  its  main  feature.  Everybody  was 


2OO  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

grumbling  about  it,  as  if  it  were  something  or 
dered  from  the  tailor,  and  not  ready  on  the  day. 
Day  after  day  it  snowed,  night  after  night  it  blew 
a  gale  from  the  northwest  ;  the  frost  sunk  deep 
er  and  deeper  into  the  ground  ;  there  was  a  pop 
ular  longing  for  spring  that  was  almost  a  prayer  ; 
the  weather  bureau  was  active  ;  Easter  was  set  a 
week  earlier  than  the  year  before,  but  nothing 
seemed  to  do  any  good.  The  robins  sat  under 
the  evergreens,  and  piped  in  a  disconsolate  mood, 
and  at  last  the  bluejays  came  and  scolded  in  the 
midst  of  the  snow-storm,  as  they  always  do  scold 
in  any  weather.  The  crocuses  could  n't  be  coaxed 
to  come  up,  even  with  a  pickaxe.  I  'm  almost 
ashamed  now  to  recall  what  we  said  of  the 
weather,  only  I  think  that  people  are  no  more 
accountable  for  what  they  say  of  the  weather 
than  for  their  remarks  when  their  corns  are 
stepped  on. 

We  agreed,  however,  that,  but  for  disappointed 
expectations  and  the  prospect  of  late  lettuce  and 
peas,  we  were  gaining  by  the  fire  as  much  as  we 
were  losing  by  the  frost.  And  the  Mistress  fell 
to  chanting  the  comforts  of  modern  civilization. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  2OI 

THE  FIRE-TENDER  said  he  should  like  to  know, 
by  the  way,  if  our  civilization  differed  essentially 
from  any  other  in  anything  but  its  comforts. 

HERBERT.     We  are  no  nearer  religious  unity. 

THE  PARSON.  We  have  as  much  war  as 
ever. 

MANDEVILLE.  There  was  never  such  a  social 
turmoil. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  The  artistic  part  of  our 
nature  does  not  appear  to  have  grown. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  We  are  quarrelling  as  to 
whether  we  are  in  fact  radically  different  from 
the  brutes. 

HERBERT.  Scarcely  two  people  think  alike 
about  the  proper  kind  of  human  government. 

THE  PARSON.  Our  poetry  is  made  out  of 
words,  for  the  most  part,  and  not  drawn  from 
the  living  sources. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  And  Mr.  Gumming  is  un 
corking  his  seventh  phial.  I  never  felt  before 
what  barbarians  we  are. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Yet  you  won't  deny  that  the 
life  of  the  average  man  is  safer  and  every  way 
more  comfortable  than  it  was  even  a  century  ago. 


202  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  But  what  I  want  to  know 
is,  whether  what  we  call  our  civilization  has  done 
anything  more  for  mankind  at  large  than  to  in 
crease  the  ease  and  pleasure  of  living  ?  Science 
has  multiplied  wealth,  and  facilitated  intercourse, 
and  the  result  is  refinement  of  manners  and  a 
diffusion  of  education  and  information.  Are  men 
and  women  essentially  changed,  however  ?  I 
suppose  the  Parson  would  say  we  have  lost  faith, 
for  one  thing. 

MANDEVILLE.  And  superstition  ;  and  gained 
toleration. 

HERBERT.  The  question  is,  whether  toleration 
is  anything  but  indifference. 

THE  PARSON.  Everything  is  tolerated  now 
but  Christian  orthodoxy. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  It 's  easy  enough  to  make 
a  brilliant  catalogue  of  external  achievements, 
but  I  take  it  that  real  progress  ought  to  be  in 
man  himself.  It  is  not  a  question  of  what  a  man 
enjoys,  but  what  can  he  produce.  The  best 
sculpture  was  executed  two  thousand  years  ago. 
The  best  paintings  are  several  centuries  old. 
We  study  the  finest  architecture  in  its  ruins. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  203 

The  standards  of  poetry  are  Shakespeare,  Homer, 
Isaiah,  and  David.  The  latest  of  the  arts,  music, 
culminated  in  composition,  though  not  in  execu 
tion,  a  century  ago. 

THE  MISTRESS.  Yet  culture  in  music  certainly 
distinguishes  the  civilization  of  this  age.  It  has 
taken  eighteen  hundred  years  for  the  principles 
of  the  Christian  religion  to  begin  to  be  prac 
tically  incorporated  in  government  and  in  or 
dinary  business,  and  it  will  take  a  long  time 
for  Beethoven  to  be  popularly  recognized ;  but 
there  is  growth  toward  him,  and  not  away 
from  him,  and  when  the  average  culture  has 
reached  his  height,  some  other  genius  will  still 
more  profoundly  and  delicately  express  the  high 
est  thoughts. 

HERBERT.  I  wish  I  could  believe  it.  The 
spirit  of  this  age  is  expressed  by  the  Cal 
liope. 

THE  PARSON.  Yes,  it  remained  for  us  to  add 
church-bells  and  cannon  to  the  orchestra. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  It 's  a  melancholy  thought 
to  me  that  we  can  no  longer  express  ourselves 
with  the  bass-drum  ;  there  used  to  be  the 


2O4  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

whole  of  the  Fourth  of  July  in  its  patriotic 
throbs. 

MANDEVILLE.  We  certainly  have  made  great 
progress  in  one  art,  —  that  of  war. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  And  in  the  humane  alle 
viations  of  the  miseries  of  war. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  The  most  discouraging 
symptom  to  me  in  our  undoubted  advance  in  the 
comforts  and  refinements  of  society  is  the  facility 
with  which  men  slip  back  into  barbarism,  if  the 
artificial  and  external  accidents  of  their  lives  are 
changed.  We  have  always  kept  a  fringe  of  bar 
barism  on  our  shifting  western  frontier ;  and  I 
think  there  never  was  a  worse  society  than 
that  in  California  and  Nevada  in  their  early 
days. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY.  That  is  because  women 
were  absent. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  But  women  are  not  ab 
sent  in  London  and  New  York,  and  they  are 
conspicuous  in  the  most  exceptionable  demon 
strations  of  social  anarchy.  Certainly  they  were 
rot  wanting  in  Paris.  Yes,  there  was  a  city 
widely  accepted  as  the  summit  of  our  material 


BACKLOG  STUDIES,  205 

civilization.  No  city  was  so  beautiful,  so  luxuri 
ous,  so  safe,  so  well  ordered  for  the  comfort  of 
living,  and  yet  it  needed  only  a  month  or  two 
to  make  it  a  kind  of  pandemonium  of  savagery. 
Its  citizens  were  the  barbarians  who  destroyed 
its  own  monuments  of  civilization.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that  there  was  no  apology  for  what  was 
done  there  in  the  deceit  and  fraud  that  preceded 
it,  but  I  simply  notice  how  ready  the  tiger  was  to 
appear,  and  how  little  restraint  all  the  material 
civilization  was  to  the  beast. 

THE  MISTRESS.  I  can't  deny  your  instances, 
and  yet  I  somehow  feel  that  pretty  much  all  you 
have  been  saying  is  in  effect  untrue.  Not  one 
of  you  would  be  willing  to  change  our  civilization 
for  any  other.  In  your  estimate  you  take  no 
account,  it  seems  to  me,  of  the  growth  of  charity. 

MANDEVILLE.  And  you  might  add  a  recogni 
tion  of  the  value  of  human  life. 

THE  MISTRESS.  I  don't  believe  there  was  ever 
before  diffused  everywhere  such  an  element  of 
good-will,  and  never  before  were  women  so  much 
engaged  in  philanthropic  work. 

THE  PARSON.     It  must  be  confessed  that  one 


2O6  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

of  the  best  signs  of  the  times  is  woman's  charity 
for  woman.  That  certainly  never  existed  to  the 
same  extent  in  any  other  civilization. 

MANDEVILLE.  And  there  is  another  thing  that 
distinguishes  us,  or  is  beginning  to.  That  is,  the 
notion  that  you  can  do  something  more  with  a 
criminal  than  punish  him  ;  and  that  society  has 
not  done  its  duty  when  it  has  built  a  sufficient 
number  of  schools  for  one  class,  or  of  decent  jails 
for  another. 

HERBERT.  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  we 
get  decent  jails. 

MANDEVILLE.  But  when  we  do  they  will  be 
gin  to  be  places  of  education  and  training  as 
much  as  of  punishment  and  disgrace.  The  pub 
lic  will  provide  teachers  in  the  prisons  as  it  now 
does  in  the  common  schools. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  The  imperfections  of  our 
methods  and  means  of  selecting  those  in  the  com 
munity  who  ought  to  be  in  prison  are  so  great, 
that  extra  care  in  dealing  with  them  becomes  us. 
We  are  beginning  to  learn  that  we  cannot  draw 
arbitrary  lines  with  infallible  justice.  Perhaps 
half  those  who  are  convicted  of  crimes  are  as 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  2O/ 


capable  of  reformation  as  half  those  transgressors 
who  are  not  convicted,  or  who  keep  inside  the 
statutory  law. 

HERBERT.     Would  you  remove  the  odium  of 


prison 


THE  FIRE-TENDER.  No  ;  but  I  would  have 
criminals  believe,  and  society  believe,  that  in 
going  to  prison  a  man  or  woman  does  not  pass 
an  absolute  line  and  go  into  a  fixed  state. 

THE  PARSON.  That  is,  you  would  not  have 
judgment  and  retribution  begin  in  this  world. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Don't  switch  us  off  into 
theology.  I  hate  to  go  up  in  a  balloon,  or  see 
any  one  else  go. 

HERBERT.  Don't  you  think  there  is  too  much 
leniency  toward  crime  and  criminals,  taking  the 
place  of  justice,  in  these  days  ? 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  There  may  be  too  much 
disposition  to  condone  the  crimes  of  those  who 
have  been  considered  respectable. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  That  is,  scarcely  anybody 
wants  to  see  his  friend  hung. 

MANDEVILLE.  I  think  a  large  part  of  the  bit 
terness  of  the  condemned  arises  from  a  sense  of 


208  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

the  inequality  with  which  justice  is  administered. 
I  am  surprised,  in  visiting  jails,  to  find  so  few 
respectable-looking  convicts. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.  Nobody  will  go  to  jail 
nowadays  who  thinks  anything  of  himself. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  When  society  seriously 
takes  hold  of  the  reformation  of  criminals  (say 
with  as  much  determination  as  it  does  to  carry 
an  election)  this  false  leniency  will  disappear  ;  for 
it  partly  springs  from  a  feeling  that  punishment 
is  unequal,  and  does  not  discriminate  enough  in 
individuals,  and  that  society  itself  has  no  right  to 
turn  a  man  over  to  the  Devil,  simply  because  he 
shows  a  strong  leaning  that  way.  A  part  of  the 
scheme  of  those  who  work  for  the  reformation  of 
criminals  is  to  render  punishment  more  certain, 
and  to  let  its  extent  depend  upon  reformation. 
There  is  no  reason  why  a  professional  criminal, 
who  won't  change  his  trade  for  an  honest  one, 
should  have  intervals  of  freedom  in  his  prison 
life  in  which  he  is  let  loose  to  prey  upon  society. 
Criminals  ought  to  be  discharged,  like  insane 
patients,  when  they  are  cured. 

OUR  NEXT  DOOR.     It 's  a  wonder  to  me,  what 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  209 

with  our  multitudes  of  statutes  and  hosts  of 
detectives,  that  we  are  any  of  us  out  of  jail.  I 
never  come  away  from  a  visit  to  a  State-prison 
without  a  new  spasm  of  fear  and  virtue. 
The  facilities  for  getting  into  jail  seem  to  be 
ample.  We  want  more  organizations  for  keep 
ing  people  out. 

MANDEVILLE.  That  is  the  sort  of  enterprise 
the  women  are  engaged  in,  the  frustration  of  the 
criminal  tendencies  of  those  born  in  vice.  I 
believe  women  have  it  in  their  power  to  regen 
erate  the  world  morally. 

THE  PARSON.  It  's  time  they  began  to  undo 
the  mischief  of  their  mother. 

THE  MISTRESS.  The  reason  they  have  not 
made  more  progress  is  that  they  have  usually 
confined  their  individual  efforts  to  one  man  ; 
they  are  now  organizing  for  a  general  cam 
paign. 

THE  FIRE-TENDER.  I  'm  not  sure  but  here  is 
where  the  ameliorations  of  the  conditions  of  life, 
which  are  called  the  comforts  of  this  civilization, 
come  in,  after  all,  and  distinguish  the  age  above 
all  others.  They  have  enabled  the  finer  powers 


210  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

of  women  to  have  play  as  they  could  not  in  a 
ruder  age.  I  should  like  to  live  a  hundred  years 
and  see  what  they  will  do. 

HERBERT.  Not  much  but  change  the  fashions, 
unless  they  submit  themselves  to  the  same  train 
ing  and  discipline  that  men  do. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  Herbert  had  to  apologize 
for  this  remark  afterwards  in  private,  as  men  are 
quite  willing  to  do  in  particular  cases  ;  it  is  only 
in  general  they  are  unjust.  The  talk  drifted 
off  into  general  and  particular  depreciation  of 
other  times.  Mandeville  described  a  picture,  in 
which  he  appeared  to  have  confidence,  of  a  fight 
between  an  Iguanodon  and  a  Megalosaurus,  where 
these  huge  iron-clad  brutes  were  represented 
chewing  up  different  portions  of  each  other's 
bodies  in  a  forest  of  the  lower  cretaceous  period. 
So  far  as  he  could  learn,  that  sort  of  thing  went 
on  unchecked  for  hundreds  of  thousands  of  years, 
and  was  typical  of  the  intercourse  of  the  races  of 
man  till  a  comparatively  recent  period.  There 
was  also  that  gigantic  swan,  the  Plesiosaurus  ;  in 
fact,  all  the  early  brutes  were  disgusting.  He 
delighted  to  think  that  even  the  lower  animals 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


211 


had  improved,  both  in  appearance  and  disposi 
tion. 

The  conversation  ended,  therefore,  in  a  very 
amicable  manner,  having  been  taken  to  a  ground 
that  nobody  knew  anything  about. 


AN  you  have  a  backlog  in  July?     That 
depends  upon  circumstances. 

In  northern  New  England  it  is  con 
sidered  a  sign  of  summer  when  the  housewives 
fill  the  fireplaces  with  branches  of  mountain 
laurel,  and,  later,  with  the  feathery  stalks  of 
the  asparagus.  This  is  often,  too,  the  timid 
expression  of  a  tender  feeling,  under  Puritanic 
repression,  which  has  not  sufficient  vent  in  the 
sweet-william  and  hollyhock  at  the  front  door. 
This  is  a  yearning  after  beauty  and  ornamenta 
tion  which  has  no  other  means  of  gratifying  itself. 
In  the  most  rigid  circumstances,  the  graceful 
nature  of  woman  thus  discloses  itself  in  these 
mute  expressions  of  an  undeveloped  taste.  You 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  213 

may  never  doubt  what  the  common  flowers  grow 
ing  along  the  pathway  to  the  front  door  mean 
to  the  maiden  of  many  summers  who  tends 
them  ;  —  love  and  religion,  and  the  weariness  of 
an  uneventful  life.  The  sacredness  of  the  Sab 
bath,  the  hidden  memory  of  an  unrevealed  and 
unrequited  affection,  the  slow  years  of  gathering 
and  wasting  sweetness,  are  in  the  smell  of  the 
pink  and  the  sweet-clover.  These  sentimental 
plants  breathe  something  of  the  longing  of  the 
maiden  who  sits  in  the  Sunday  evenings  of 
summer  on  the  lonesome  front  door-stone,  sing 
ing  the  hymns  of  the  saints,  and  perennial  as  the 
myrtle  that  grows  thereby. 

Yet  not  always  in  summer,  even  with  the  aid 
of  unrequited  love  and  devotional  feeling,  is  it 
safe  to  let  the  fire  go  out  on  the  hearth,  in  our 
latitude.  I  remember  when  the  last  almost  total 
eclipse  of  the  sun  happened  in  August,  what  a 
bone-piercing  chill  came  over  the  world.  Per 
haps  the  imagination  had  something  to  do  with 
causing  the  chill  from  that  temporary  hiding  of 
the  sun  to  feel  so  much  more  penetrating  than 
that  from  the  coming  on  of  night,  which  shortly 


214  BACKLOG  STUDIES- 

followed.  It  was  impossible  not  to  experience  a 
shudder  as  of  the  approach  of  the  Judgment  Day, 
when  the  shadows  were  flung  upon  the  green 
lawn,  and  we  all  stood  in  the  wan  light,  looking 
unfamiliar  to  each  other.  The  birds  in  the  trees 
felt  the  spell.  We  could  in  fancy  see  those  spec 
tral  camp-fires  which  men  would  build  on  the 
earth,  if  the  sun  should  slow  its  fires  down  to 
about  the  brilliancy  of  the  moon.  It  was  a  great 
relief  to  all  of  us  to  go  into  the  house,  and,  before 
a  blazing  wood  fire,  talk  of  the  end  of  the  world. 
In  New  England  it  is  scarcely  ever  safe  to  let 
the  fire  go  out  ;  it  is  best  to  bank  it,  for  it  needs 
but  the  turn  of  a  weather-vane  at  any  hour  to 
sweep  the  Atlantic  rains  over  us,  or  to  bring 
down  the  chill  of  Hudson's  Bay.  There  are  days 
when  the  steamship  on  the  Atlantic  glides  calmly 
along  under  a  full  canvas,  but  its  central  fires 
must  always  be  ready  to  make  steam  against 
head-winds  and  antagonistic  waves.  Even  in 
our  most  smiling  summer  days  one  needs  to  have 
the  materials  of  a  cheerful  fire  at  hand.  It  is 
only  by  this  readiness  for  a  change  that  one  can 
preserve  an  equal  mind.  We  are  made  provident 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


215 


and  sagacious  by  the  fickleness  of  our  climate. 
We  should  be  another  sort  of  people  if  we  could 
have  that  serene,  unclouded  trust  in  nature  which 
the  Egyptian  has.  The  gravity  and  repose  of  the 
Eastern  peoples  is  due  to  the  unchanging  aspect 
of  the  sky,  and  the  deliberation  and  regularity 
of  the  great  climatic  processes.  Our  literature, 
politics,  religion,  show  the  effect  of  unsettled 
weather.  But  they  compare  favorably  with  the 
Egyptian,  for  all  that. 

II. 

You  cannot  know,  the  Young  Lady  wrote,  with 
what  longing  I  look  back  to  those  winter  days  by 
the  fire  ;  though  all  the  windows  are  open  to  this 
May  morning,  and  the  brown  thrush  is  singing 
in  the  chestnut-tree,  and  I  see  everywhere  that 
first  delicate  flush  of  spring,  which  seems  too 
evanescent  to  be  color  even,  and  amounts  to  little 
more  than  a  suffusion  of  the  atmosphere.  I 
doubt,  indeed,  if  the  spring  is  exactly  what  it 
used  to  be,  or  if,  as  we  get  on  in  years  [no  one 
ever  speaks  of  "getting  on  in  years"  till  she  is 


2l6  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

virtually  settled  in  life],  its  promises  and  sugges 
tions  do  not  seem  empty  in  comparison  with  the 
sympathies  and  responses  of  human  friendship, 
and  the  stimulation  of  society.  Sometimes  noth 
ing  is  so  tiresome  as  a  perfect  day  in  a  perfect 
season. 

I  only  imperfectly  understand  this.  The  Par 
son  says  that  woman  is  always  most  restless 
under  the  most  favorable  conditions,  and  that 
there  is  no  state  in  which  she  is  really  happy 
except  that  of  change.  I  suppose  this  is  the 
truth  taught  in  what  has  been  called  the  "  Myth 
of  the  Garden."  Woman  is  perpetual  revolution, 
and  is  that  element  in  the  world  which  continu 
ally  destroys  and  re-creates.  She  is  the  experi 
menter  and  the  suggester  of  new  combinations. 
She  has  no  belief  in  any  law  of  eternal  fitness 
of  things.  She  is  never  even  content  with  any 
arrangement  of  her  own  house.  The  only  reason 
the  Mistress  could  give,  when  she  rearranged  her 
apartment,  for  hanging  a  picture  in  what  seemed 
the  most  inappropriate  place,  was  that  it  had 
never  been  there  before.  Woman  has  no  respect 
for  tradition,  and  because  a  thing  is  as  it  is  is 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  21 7 


sufficient  reason  for  changing  it.  When  she  gets 
into  law,  as  she  has  come  into  literature,  we  shall 
gain  something  in  the  destruction  of  all  our  vast 
and  musty  libraries  of  precedents,  which  now 
fetter  our  administration  of  individual  justice.  It 
is  Mandeville's  opinion  that  women  are  not  so 
sentimental  as  men,  and  are  not  so  easily  touched 
with  the  unspoken  poetry  of  nature  ;  being  less 
poetical,  and  having  less  imagination,  they  are 
more  fitted  for  practical  affairs,  and  would  make 
less  failures  in  business.  I  have  noticed  the 
almost  selfish  passion  for  their  flowers  which  old 
gardeners  have,  and  their  reluctance  to  part  with 
a  leaf  or  a  blossom  from  their  family.  They  love 
the  flowers  for  themselves.  A  woman  raises 
flowers  for  their  use.  She  is  destruction  in  a 
conservatory.  She  wants  the  flowers  for  her 
lover,  for  the  sick,  for  the  poor,  for  the  Lord  on 
Easter  day,  for  the  ornamentation  of  her  house. 
She  delights  in  the  costly  pleasure  of  sacrificing 
them.  She  never  sees  a  flower  but  she  has  an 
intense  but  probably  sinless  desire  to  pick  it. 

It  has  been  so  from  the  first,  though  from  the 
first  she  has   been    thwarted  by  the  accidental 


2l8  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

superior  strength  of  man.  Whatever  she  has 
obtained  has  been  by  craft,  and  by  the  same  coax 
ing  which  the  sun  uses  to  draw  the  blossoms  out 
of  the  apple-trees.  I  am  not  surprised  to  learn 
that  she  has  become  tired  of  indulgences,  and 
wants  some  of  the  original  rights.  We  are  just 
beginning  to  find  out  the  extent  to  which  she  has 
been  denied  and  subjected,  and  especially  her  con 
dition  among  the  primitive  and  barbarous  races. 
I  have  never  seen  it  in  a  platform  of  grievances, 
but  it  is  true  that  among  the  Fijians  she  is  not, 
unless  a  better  civilization  has  wrought  a  change 
in  her  behalf,  permitted  to  eat  people,  even  her 
own  sex,  at  the  feasts  of  the  men ;  the  dainty 
enjoyed  by  the  men  being  considered  too  good 
to  be  wasted  on  women.  Is  anything  wanting  to 
this  picture  of  the  degradation  of  woman  ?  By  a 
refinement  of  cruelty  she  receives  no  benefit 
whatever  from  the  missionaries  who  are  sent  out 
by  —  what  to  her  must  seem  a  new  name  for 
Tan-talus  —  the  American  Board. 

I  suppose  the  Young  Lady  expressed  a  nearly 
universal  feeling  in  her  regret  at  the  breaking  up 
of  the  winter-fireside  company.  Society  needs 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


219 


a  certain  seclusion  and  the  sense  of  security. 
Spring  opens  the  doors  and  the  windows,  and 
the  noise  and  unrest  of  the  world  are  let  in. 
Even  a  winter  thaw  begets  a  desire  to  travel,  and 
summer  brings  longings  innumerable,  and  dis 
turbs  the  most  tranquil  souls.  Nature  is,  in  fact, 
a  suggester  of  uneasiness,  a  promoter  of  pilgrim 
ages  and  of  excursions  of  the  fancy  which  never 
come  to  any  satisfactory  haven.  The  summer  in 
these  latitudes  is  a  campaign  of  sentiment  and 
a  season,  for  the  most  part,  of  restlessness  and 
discontent  We  grow  now  in  hot-houses  roses 
which,  in  form  and  color,  are  magnificent,  and 
appear  to  be  full  of  passion  ;  yet  one  simple  June 
rose  of  the  open  air  has  for  the  Young  Lady, 
I  doubt  not,  more  sentiment  and  suggestion  of 
love  than  a  conservatory  full  of  them  in  January. 
And  this  suggestion,  leavened  as  it  is  with  the 
inconstancy  of  nature,  stimulated  by  the  promises 
which  are  so  often  like  the  peach-bloom  of  the 
Judas-tree,  unsatisfying  by  reason  of  its  vague 
possibilities,  differs  so  essentially  from  the  more 
limited  and  attainable  and  home-like  emotion 
born  of  quiet  intercourse  by  the  winter  fireside, 


22O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

that  I  do  not  wonder  the  Young  Lady  feels  as  if 
some  spell  had  been  broken  by  the  transition  of 
her  life  from  in-doors  to  out-doors.  Her  secret, 
if  secret  she  has,  which  I  do  not  at  all  know,  is 
shared  by  the  birds  and  the  new  leaves  and  the 
blossoms  on  the  fruit  trees.  If  we  lived  else 
where,  in  that  zone  where  the  poets  pretend 
always  to  dwell,  we  might  be  content,  perhaps 
I  should  say  drugged,  by  the  sweet  influences 
of  an  unchanging  summer  ;  but  not  living  else 
where,  we  can  understand  why  the  Young  Lady 
probably  now  looks  forward  to  the  hearthstone 
as  the  most  assured  centre  of  enduring  attach 
ment. 

If  it  should  ever  become  the  sad  duty  of  this  bi 
ographer  to  write  of  disappointed  love,  I  am  sure 
he  would  not  have  any  sensational  story  to  tell 
of  the  Young  Lady.  She  is  one  of  those  women 
whose  unostentatious  lives  are  the  chief  blessing 
of  humanity  ;  who,  with  a  sigh  heard  only  by 
herself  and  no  change  in  her  sunny  face,  would 
put  behind  her  all  the  memories  of  winter  even 
ings  and  the  promises  of  May  mornings,  and 
give  her  life  to  some  ministration  of  human  kind- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  221 


ness  with  an  assiduity  that  would  make  her  occu 
pation  appear  like  an  election  and  a  first  choice. 
The  disappointed  man  scowls,  and  hates  his  race, 
and  threatens  self-destruction,  choosing  often er 
the  flowing  bowl  than  the  dagger,  and  becoming 
a  reeling  nuisance  in  the  world.  It  would  be 
much  more  manly  in  him  to  become  the  secre 
tary  of  a  Dorcas  society. 

I  suppose  it  is  true  that  women  work  for 
others  with  less  expectation  of  reward  than  men, 
and  give  themselves  to  labors  of  self-sacrifice 
with  much  less  thought  of  self.  At  least,  this  is 
true  unless  woman  goes  into  some  public  per 
formance,  where  notoriety  has  its  attractions,  and 
mounts  some  cause,  to  ride  it  man-fashion,  when 
I  think  she  becomes  just  as  eager  for  applause 
and  just  as  walling  that  self-sacrifice  should  result 
in  self-elevation  as  man.  For  her,  usually,  are 
not  those  unbought  "presentations"  which  are 
forced  upon  firemen,  philanthropists,  legislators, 
railroad-men,  and  the  superintendents  of  the 
moral  instruction  of  the  young.  These  are 
almost  always  pleasing  and  unexpected  tributes 
to  worth  and  modesty,  and  must  be  received  with 


222  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

satisfaction  when  the  public  service  rendered  has 
not  been  with  a  view  to  procuring  them.  We 
should  say  that  one  ought  to  be  most  liable  to 
receive  a  "  testimonial "  who,  being  a  superin 
tendent  of  any  sort,  did  not  superintend  with  a 
view  to  getting  it.  But  "  testimonials "  have 
become  so  common  that  a  modest  man  ought 
really  to  be  afraid  to  do  his  simple  duty,  for  fear 
his  motives  will  be  misconstrued.  Yet  there  are 
instances  of  very  worthy  men  who  have  had 
things  publicly  presented  to  them.  It  is  the 
blessed  age  of  gifts  and  the  reward  of  private 
virtue.  And  the  presentations  have  become  so 
frequent  that  we  wish  there  were  a  little  more 
variety  in  them.  There  never  was  much  sense 
in  giving  a  gallant  fellow  a  big  speaking-trumpet 
to  carry  home  to  aid  him  in  his  intercourse  with 
his  family ;  and  the  festive  ice-pitcher  has  become 
a  too  universal  sign  of  absolute  devotion  to  the 
public  interest.  The  lack  of  one  will  soon  be 
proof  that  a  man  is  a  knave.  The  legislative 
cane  with  the  gold  head,  also,  is  getting  to  be 
recognized  as  the  sign  of  the  immaculate  public 
servant,  as  the  inscription  on  it  testifies,  and  the 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  223 

steps  of  suspicion  must  erelong  dog  him  who 
does  not  carry  one.  The  "  testimonial "  business 
is,  in  truth,  a  little  demoralizing,  almost  as  much 
so  as  the  "  donation "  ;  and  the  demoralization 
has  extended  even  to  our  language,  so  that  a  per 
fectly  respectable  man  is  often  obliged  to  see 
himself  "made  the  recipient  of"  this  and  that. 
It  would  be  much  better,  if  testimonials  must  be, 
to  give  a  man  a  barrel  of  flour  or  a  keg  of  oys- 
.ters,  and  let  him  eat  himself  at  once  back  into 
the  ranks  of  ordinary  men. 

III. 

WE  may  have  a  testimonial  class  in  time,  a 
sort  of  nobility  here  in  America,  made  so  'by  pop 
ular  gift,  the  members  of  which  will  all  be  able 
to  show  some  stick  or  piece  of  plated  ware  or 
massive  chain,  "  of  which  they  have  been  the 
recipients."  In  time  it  may  be  a  distinction  not 
to  belong  to  it,  and  it  may  come  to  be  thought 
more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive.  For  it 
must  have  been  remarked  that  it  is  not  always  to 
the  cleverest  and  the  most  amiable  and  modest 


224  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

man  that  the  deputation  comes  with  the  inevita 
ble  ice-pitcher  (and  "salver  to  match"),  which 
has  in  it  the  magic  and  subtle  quality  of  making 
the  hour  in  which  it  is  received  the  proudest  of 
one's  life.  There  has  not  been  discovered  any 
method  of  rewarding  all  the  deserving  people 
and  bringing  their  virtues  into  the  prominence 
of  notoriety.  And,  indeed,  it  would  be  an  unrea 
sonable  world  if  there  had,  for  its  chief  charm 
and  sweetness  lie  in  the  excellences  in  it  which 
are  reluctantly  disclosed  ;  one  of  the  chief  pleas 
ures  of  living  is  in  the  daily  discovery  of  good 
traits,  nobilities,  and  kindliness  both  in  those 
we  have  long  known  and  in  the  chance  pas 
senger  whose  way  happens  for  a  day  to  lie  with 

ours.      The   longer    I    live    the   more  I    am  im-' 

• 

pressed  with  the  excess  of  human  kindness  over 
human  hatred,  and  the  greater  willingness  to 
oblige  than  to  disoblige  that  one  meets  at  every 
turn.  The  selfishness  in  politics,  the  jealousy  in 
letters,  the  bickering  in  art,  the  bitterness  in 
theology,  are  all  as  nothing  compared  to  the 
sweet  charities,  sacrifices,  and  deferences  of  pri 
vate  life.  The  people  are  few  whom  to  know 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  22$ 

intimately  is  to  dislike.  Of  course  you  want  to 
hate  somebody,  if  you  can,  just  to  keep  your  pow 
ers  of  discrimination  bright,  and  to  save  yourself 
from  becoming  a  mere  mush  of  good-nature  ;  but 
perhaps  it  is  well  to  hate  some  historical  person 
who  has  been  dead  so  long  as  to  be  indifferent 
to  it.  It  is  more  comfortable  to  hate  people 
we  have  never  seen.  I  cannot  but  think  that 
Judas  Iscariot  has  been  of  great  service  to  the 
world  as  a  sort  of  buffer  for  moral  indignation 
which  might  have  made  a  collision  nearer  home 
but  for  his  utilized  treachery.  I  used  to  know  a 
venerable  and  most  amiable  gentleman  and  schol 
ar,  whose  hospitable  house  was  always  overrun 
with  wayside  ministers,  agents,  and  philanthro 
pists,  who  loved  their  fellow-men  better  than  they 
loved  to  work  for  their  living ;  and  he,  I  suspect, 
kept  his  moral  balance  even  by  indulgence  in 
violent  but  most  distant  dislikes.  When  I  met 
him  casually  in  the  street,  his  first  salutation 
was  likely  to  be  such  as  this:  "What  a  liar  that 
Alison  was  !  Don't  you  hate  him  ?  "  And  then 
would  follow  specifications  of  historical  inveracity 
enough  to  make  one's  blood  run  cold.  When  he 


226  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

was  thus  discharged  of  his  hatred  by  such  a  con 
ductor,  I  presume  he  had  not  a  spark  left  for 
those  whose  mission  was  partly  to  live  upon  him 
and  other  generous  souls. 

Mandeville  and  I  were  talking  of  the  unknown 
people,  one  rainy  night  by  the  fire,  while  the 
Mistress  was  fitfully  and  interjectionally  playing 
with  the  piano-keys  in  an  improvising  mood. 
Mandeville  has  a  good  deal  of  sentiment  about 
him,  and  without  any  effort  talks  so  beautifully 
sometimes  that  I  constantly  regret  I  cannot 
report  his  language.  He  has,  besides,  that  sym 
pathy  of  presence  —  I  believe  it  is  called  mag 
netism  by  those  who  regard  the  brain  as  only 
a  sort  of  galvanic  battery  —  which  makes  it  a 
greater  pleasure  to  see  him  think,  if  I  may  say 
so,  than  to  hear  some  people  talk. 

It  makes  one  homesick  in  this  world  to  think 
that  there  are  so  many  rare  people  he  can 
never  know  ;  and  so  many  excellent  people  that 
scarcely  any  one  will  know,  in  fact.  One  discov 
ers  a  friend  by  chance,  and  cannot  but  feel  regret 
that  twenty  or  thirty  years  of  life  maybe  have 
been  spent  without  the  least  knowledge  of  him. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  22/ 

When  he  is  once  known,  through  him  opening  is 
made  into  another  little  world,  into  a  circle  of 
culture  and  loving  hearts  and  enthusiasm  in  a 
dozen  congenial  pursuits,  and  prejudices  per 
haps-  How  instantly  and  easily  the  bachelor 
doubles  his  world  when  he  marries,  and  enters 
into  the  unknown  fellowship  of  the  to  him  con 
tinually  increasing  company  which  is  known  in 
popular  language  as  "  all  his  wife's  relations." 

Near  at  hand  daily,  no  doubt,  are  those  worth 
knowing  intimately,  if  one  had  the  time  and  the 
opportunity.  And  when  one  travels  he  sees 
what  a  vast  material  there  is  for  society  and 
friendship,  of  which  he  can  never  avail  himself. 
Car-load  after  car-load  of  summer  travel  goes  by 
one  at  any  railway-station,  out  of  which  he  is  sure 
he  could  choose  a  score  of  life-long  friends,  if  the 
conductor  would  introduce  him.  There  are  faces 
of  refinement,  of  quick  wit,  of  sympathetic  kind 
ness, —  interesting  people,  travelled  people,  en 
tertaining  people,  — as  you  would  say  in  Boston, 
"  nice  people  you  would  admire  to  know,"  whom 
you  constantly  meet  and  pass  without  a  sign  of 
recognition,  many  of  whom  are  no  doubt  your 


228  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

long-lost  brothers  and  sisters.  You  can  see  that 
they  also  have  their  worlds  and  their  interests,  and 
they  probably  know  a  great  many  "  nice  "  people. 
The  matter  of  personal  liking  and  attachment  is 
a  good  deal  due  to  the  mere  fortune  of  associa 
tion.  More  fast  friendships  and  pleasant  acquaint 
anceships  are  formed  on  the  Atlantic  steamships 
between  those  who  would  have  been  only  indif 
ferent  acquaintances  elsewhere,  than  one  would 
think  possible  on  a  voyage  which  naturally  makes 
one  as  selfish  as  he  is  indifferent  to  his  personal 
appearance.  The  Atlantic  is  the  only  power  on 
earth  I  know  that  can  make  a  woman  indifferent 
to  her  personal  appearance. 

Mandeville  remembers,  and  I  think  without 
detriment  to  himself,  the  glimpses  he  had  in  the 
White  Mountains  once  of  a  young  lady  of  whom 
his  utmost  efforts  could  only  give  him  no  further 
information  than  her  name.  Chance  sight  of  her 
on  a  passing  stage  or  amid  a  group  on  some 
mountain  lookout  was  all  he  ever  had,  and  he 
did  not  even  knpw  certainly  whether  she  was  the 
perfect  beauty  and  the  lovely  character  he  thought 
her.  He  said  he  would  have  known  her,  however, 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  229 

at  a  great  distance  ;  there  was  in  her  form  that 
ravishing  mingling  of  grace  and  command  of 
which  we  hear  so  much,  and  which  turns  out  to 
be  nearly  all  command  after  the  "ceremony"  ;  or 
perhaps  it  was  something  in  the  glance  of  her  eye 
or  the  turn  of  her  head,  or  very  likely  it  was  a 
sweet  inherited  reserve  or  hauteur  that  captivated 
him,  that  rilled  his  days  with  the  expectation  of 
seeing  her,  and  made  him  hasten  to  the  hotel- 
registers  in  the  hope  that  her  name  was  there 
recorded.  Whatever  it  was,  she  interested  him 
as  one  of  the  people  he  would  like  to  know  ;  and 
it  piqued  him  that  there  was  a  life,  rich  in  friend 
ships,  no  doubt,  in  tastes,  in  many  noblenesses, — 
one  of  thousands  of  such,  —  that  must  be  abso 
lutely  nothing  to  him,  —  nothing  but  a  window 
into  heaven  momentarily  opened  and  then  closed. 
I  have  myself  no  idea  that  she  was  a  countess 
incognito,  or  that  she  had  descended  from  any 
greater  heights  than  those  where  Mandeville  saw 
her,  but  I  have  always  regretted  that  she  went 
her  way  so  mysteriously  and  left  no  clew,  and 
that  we  shall  wear  out  the  remainder  of  our  days 
without  her  society.  I  have  looked  for  her  name, 


230  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

but  always  in  vain,  among  the  attendants  at  the 
rights'  conventions,  in  the  list  of  those  good 
Americans  presented  at  court,  among  those  skel 
eton  names  that  appear  as  the  remains  of  beauty 
in  the  morning  journals  after  a  ball  to  the  wan 
dering  prince,  in  the  reports  of  railway  collisions 
and  steamboat  explosions.  No  news  comes  of 
her.  And  so  imperfect  are  our  means  of  commu 
nication  in  this  world  that,  for  anything  we  know, 
she  may  have  left  it  long  ago  by  some  private 
way. 

IV. 

THE  lasting  regret  that  we  cannot  know  more  of 
the  bright,  sincere,  and  genuine  people  of  the  world 
is  increased  by  the  fact  that  they  are  all  different 
from  each  other.  Was  it  not  Madame  de  Sevigne 
who  said  she  had  loved  several  different  women  for 
several  different  qualities  ?  Every  real  person  — 
for  there  are  persons  as  there  are  fruits  that  have 
no  distinguishing  flavor,  mere  gooseberries  — has 
a  distinct  quality,  and  the  finding  it  is  always  like 
the  discovery  of  a  new  island  to  the  voyager. 
The  physical  world  we  shall  exhaust  some  day, 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


231 


having  a  written  description  of  every  foot  of  it  to 
which  we  can  turn  ;  but  we  shall  never  get  the 
different  qualities  of  people  into  a  biographical 
dictionary,  and  the  making  acquaintance  with  a 
human  being  will  never  cease  to  be  an  exciting 
experiment.  We  cannot  even  classify  men  so  as 
to  aid  us  much  in  our  estimate  of  them.  The 
efforts  in  this  direction  are  ingenious,  but  unsat 
isfactory.  If  I  hear  that  a  man  is  lymphatic  or 
nervous-sanguine,  I  cannot  tell  therefrom  whether 
I  shall  like  and  trust  him.  He  may  produce  a 
phrenological  chart  showing  that  his  knobby  head 
is  the  home  of  all  the  virtues,  and  that  the  vicious 
tendencies  are  represented  by  holes  in  his  cra 
nium,  and  yet  I  cannot  be  sure  that,  he  will  not 
be  as  disagreeable  as  if  phrenology  had  not  been 
invented.  I  feel  sometimes  that  phrenology  is 
the  refuge  of  mediocrity.  Its  charts  are  almost 
as  misleading  concerning  character  as  photo 
graphs.  And  photography  may  be  described  as 
the  art  which  enables  commonplace  mediocrity 
to  look  like  genius.  The  heavy-jowled  man  with 
shallow  cerebrum  has  only  to  incline  his  head  so 
that  the  lying  instrument  can  select  a  favorable 


232  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

focus,  to  appear  in  the  picture  with  the  brow  of  a 
sage  and  the  chin  of  a  poet.  Of  all  the  arts  for 
ministering  to  human  vanity  the  photographic  is 
the  most  useful,  but  it  is  a  poor  aid  in  the  reve 
lation  of  character.  You  shall  learn  more  of  a 
man's  real  nature  by  seeing  him  walk  once  up 
the  broad  aisle  of  his  church  to  his  pew  on  Sun 
day,  than  by  studying  his  photograph  fora  month. 
No,  we  do  not  get  any  certain  standard  of  men 
by  a  chart  of  their  temperaments ;  it  will  hardly 
answer  to  select  a  wife  by  the  color  of  her  hair  ; 
though  it  be  by  nature  as  red  as  a  cardinal's  hat, 
she  may  be  no  more  constant  than  if  it  were 
dyed.  The  farmer  who  shuns  all  the  lymphatic 
beauties  in  his  neighborhood,  and  selects  to  wife 
the  most  nervous-sanguine,  may  find  that  she  is 
unwilling  to  get  up  in  the  winter  mornings  and 
make  the  kitchen  fire.  Many  a  man,  even  in 
this  scientific  age  which  professes  to  label  us  all, 
has  been  cruelly  deceived  in  this  way.  Neither 
the  blondes  nor  the  brunettes  act  according  to 
the  advertisement  of  their  temperaments.  The 
truth  is  that  men  refuse  to  come  under  the  clas 
sifications  of  the  pseudo-scientists,  and  all  our 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  233 

new  nomenclatures  do  not  add  much  to  our 
knowledge.  You  know  what  to  expect  —  if  the 
comparison  will  be  pardoned  —  of  a  horse  with 
certain  points  ;  but  you  would  n't  dare  go  on  a 
journey  with  a  man  merely  upon  the  strength  of 
knowing  that  his  temperament  was  the  proper 
mixture  of  the  sanguine  and  the  phlegmatic. 
Science  is  not  able  to  teach  us  concerning  men 
as  it  teaches  us  of  horses,  though  I  am  very  far 
from  saying  that  there  are  not  traits  of  nobleness 
and  of  meanness  that  run  through  families  and 
can  be  calculated  to  appear  in  individuals  with 
absolute  certainty  ;  one  family  will  be  trusty  and 
another  tricky  through  all  its  members  for  gener 
ations  ;  noble  strains  and  ignoble  strains  are  per 
petuated.  When  we  hear  that  she  has  eloped 
with  the  stable-boy  and  married  him,  we  are  apt 
to  remark,  "  Well,  she  was  a  Bogardus."  And 
when  we  read  that  she  has  gone  on  a  mission  and 
has  died,  distinguishing  herself  by  some  extraor 
dinary  devotion  to  the  heathen  at  Ujiji,  we  think 
it  sufficient  to  say,  "Yes,  her  mother  married  into 
the  Smiths."  But  this  knowledge  comes  of  our 
experience  of  special  families,  and  stands  us  in 
stead  no  further. 


234  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

If  we  cannot  classify  men  scientifically  and 
reduce  them  under  a  kind  of  botanical  order,  as 
if  they  had  a  calculable  vegetable  development, 
neither  can  we  gain  much  knowledge  of  them  by 
comparison.  It  does  not  help  me  at  all  in  my 
estimate  of  their  characters  to  compare  Mancle- 
ville  with  the  Young  Lady,  or  Our  Next  Door 
with  the  Parson.  The  wise  man  does  not  permit 
himself  to  set  up  even  in  his  own  mind  any  com 
parison  of  his  friends.  His  friendship  is  capable 
of  going  to  extremes  with  many  people,  evoked  as 
it  is  by  many  qualities.  When  Mandeville  goes 
into  my  garden  in  June  I  can  usually  find  him  in 
a  particular  bed  of  strawberries,  but  he  does  not 
speak  disrespectfully  of  the  others.  When  Nature, 
says  Mandeville,  consents  to  put  herself  into  any 
sort  of  strawberry,  I  have  no  criticisms  to  make, 
I  am  only  glad  that  I  have  been  created  into  the 
same  world  with  such  a  delicious  manifestation 
of  the  Divine  favor.  If  I  left  Mandeville  alone  in 
the  garden  long  enough,  I  have  no  doubt  he 
would  impartially  make  an  end  of  the  fruit  of  all 
the  beds,  for  his  capacity  in  this  direction  is  as 
all-  embracing  as  it  is  in  the  matter  of  friendships. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


235 


The  Young  Lady  has  also  her  favorite  patch  of 
berries.  And  the  Parson,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  pre 
fers  to  have  them  picked  for  him — the  elect  of 
the  garden  —  and  served  in  an  orthodox  manner. 
The  strawberry  has  a  sort  of  poetical  precedence, 
and  I  presume  that  no  fruit  is  jealous  of  it  any 
more  than  any  flower  is  jealous  of  the  rose  ;  but 
I  remark  the  facility  with  which  liking  for  it  is 
transferred  to  the  raspberry,  and  from  the  rasp 
berry  (not  to  make  a  tedious  enumeration)  to  the 
melon,  and  from  the  melon  to  the  grape,  and  the 
grape  to  the  pear,  and  the  pear  to  the  apple. 
And  we  do  not  mar  our  enjoyment  of  each  by 
comparisons. 

Of  course  it  would  be  a  dull  world  if  we  could 
not  criticise  our  friends,  but  the  most  unprofit 
able  and  unsatisfactory  criticism  is  that  by  com 
parison.  Criticism  is  not  necessarily  uncharita- 
bleness,  but  a  wholesome  exercise  of  our  powers 
of  analysis  and  discrimination.  It  is,  however,  a 
very  idle  exercise,  leading  to  no  results  when  we 
set  the  qualities  of  one  over  against  the  qualities 
of  another,  and  disparage  by  contrast  and  not  by 
independent  judgment.  And  this  method  of  pro- 


236  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

cedure  creates  jealousies  and  heart-burnings  in 
numerable. 

Criticism  by  comparison  is  the  refuge  of  inca- 
pables,  and  especially  is  this  true  in  literature. 
It  is  a  lazy  way  of  disposing  of  a  young  poet  to 
bluntly  declare,  without  any  sort  of  discrimina 
tion  of  his  defects  or  his  excellences,  that  he 
equals  Tennyson,  and  that  Scott  never  wrote 
anything  finer.  What  is  the  justice  of  damning 
a  meritorious  novelist  by  comparing  him  with 
Dickens,  and  smothering  him  with  thoughtless 
and  good-natured  eulogy?  The  poet  and  the 
novelist  may  be  well  enough,  and  probably  have 
qualities  and  gifts  of  their  own  which  are  worth 
the  critic's  attention,  if  he  has  any  time  to 
bestow  on  them  ;  and  it  is  certainly  unjust  to 
subject  them  to  a  comparison  with  somebody 
else,  merely  because  the  critic  will  not  take  the 
trouble  to  ascertain  what  they  are.  If,  indeed, 
the  poet  and  novelist  are  mere  imitators  of  a 
model  and  copyists  of  a  style,  they  may  be  dis 
missed  with  such  commendation  as  we  bestow 
upon  the  machines  who  pass  their  lives  in  mak 
ing  bad  copies  of  the  pictures  of  the  great  paint- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  237 

ers.  But  the  critics  of  whom  we  speak  do  not 
intend  depreciation,  but  eulogy,  when  they  say 
that  the  author  they  have  in  hand  has  the 
wit  of  Sydney  Smith  and  the  brilliancy  of  Ma- 
caulay.  Probably  he  is  not  like  either  of  them, 
and  may  have  a  genuine  though  modest  virtue 
of  his  own  ;  but  these  names  will  certainly  kill 
him,  and  he  will  never  be  anybody  in  the  popu 
lar  estimation.  The  public  finds  out  speedily 
that  he  is  not  Sydney  Smith,  and  it  resents  the 
extravagant  claim  for  him  as  if  he  were  an  impu 
dent  pretender.  How  many  authors  of  fair  ability 
to  interest  the  world  have  we  known  in  our  own 
day  who  have  been  thus  sky-rocketed  into  noto 
riety  by  the  lazy  indiscrimination  of  the  critic-by- 
comparison,  and  then  have  sunk  into  a  popular 
contempt  as  undeserved  !  I  never  see  a  young 
aspirant  injudiciously  compared  to  a  great  and 
resplendent  name  in  literature,  but  I  feel  like 
saying,  My  poor  fellow,  your  days  are  few  and 
full  of  trouble  ;  you  begin  life  handicapped,  and 
you  cannot  possibly  run  a  creditable  race. 

I    think   this    sort  of  critical  eulogy  is  more 
damaging  even  than  that  which  kills  by  a  differ- 


238  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

ent  assumption,  and  one  which  is  equally  com 
mon,  namely,  that  the  author  has  not  done  what 
he  probably  never  intended  to  do.  It  is  well 
known  that  most  of  the  trouble  in  life  comes 
from  our  inability  to  compel  other  people  to  do 
what  we  think  they  ought,  and  it  is  true  in  criti 
cism  that  we  are  unwilling  to  take  a  book  for 
what  it  is,  and  credit  the  author  with  that. 
When  the  solemn  critic,  like  a  mastiff  with  a 
ladies'  bonnet  in  his  mouth,  gets  hold  of  a  light 
piece  of  verse,  or  a  graceful  sketch  which  catches 
the  humor  of  an  hour  for  the  entertainment  of  an 
hour,  he  tears  it  into  a  thousand  shreds.  It  adds 
nothing  to  human  knowledge,  it  solves  none  of 
the  problems  of  life,  it  touches  none  of  the  ques 
tions  of  social  science,  it  is  not  a  philosophical 
treatise,  and  it  is  not  a  dozen  things  that  it 
might  have  been.  The  critic  cannot  forgive  the 
author  for  this  disrespect  to  him.  This  is  n't  a 
rose,  says  the  critic,  taking  up  a  pansy  and  rend 
ing  it ;  it  is  not  at  all  like  a  rose,  and  the  author 
is  either  a  pretentious  idiot  or  an  idiotic  pre 
tender.  What  business,  indeed,  has  the  author 
to  send  the  critic  a  bunch  of  sweet-peas,  when  he 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


239 


knows  that  a  cabbage  would  be  preferred, —  some 
thing  not  showy,  but  useful  ? 

A  good  deal  of  this  is  what  Mandeville  said, 
and  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  devoid  of  personal 
feeling.  He  published,  some  years  ago,  a  little 
volume  giving  an  account  of  a  trip  through  the 
Great  West,  and  a  very  entertaining  book  it  was. 
But  one  of  the  heavy  critics  got  hold  of  it,  and 
made  Mandeville  appear,  even  to  himself,  he  con 
fessed,  like  an  ass,  because  there  was  nothing 
in  the  volume  about  geology  or  mining  prospects, 
and  very  little  to  instruct  the  student  of  physical 
geography.  With  alternate  sarcasm  and  ridicule, 
he  literally  basted  the  author,  till  Mandeville  said 
that  he  felt  almost  like  a  depraved  scoundrel,  and 
thought  he  should  be  held  up  to  less  execration 
if  he  had  committed  a  neat  and  scientific  murder. 

But  I  confess  that  I  have  a  good  deal  of  sym 
pathy  with  the  critics.  Consider  what  these 
public  tasters  have  to  endure !  None  of  us,  I 
fancy,  would  like  to  be  compelled  to  read  all  that 
they  read,  or  to  take  into  our  mouths,  even  with 
the  privilege  of  speedily  ejecting  it  with  a  gri 
mace,  all  that  they  sip.  The  critics  of  the  vint- 


240 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


age,  who  pursue  their  calling  in  the  dark  vaults 
and  amid  mouldy  casks,  give  their  opinion,  for 
the  most  part,  only  upon  wine,  upon  juice  that 
has  matured  and  ripened  into  the  development 
of  quality.  But  what  crude,  unstrained,  unfer- 
mented,  even  raw  and  drugged  liquor,  must  the 
literary  taster  put  to  his  unwilling  lips  day  after 
day ! 


T  was  my  good  fortune  once  to  visit 
a  man  who  remembered  the  rebellion 
of  1745.  Lest  this  confession  should 
make  me  seem  very  aged,  I  will  add  that  the 
visit  took  place  in  1851,  and  that  the  man  was 
then  one  hundred  and  thirteen  years  old.  He 
was  quite  a  lad  before  Dr.  Johnson  drank 
Mrs.  Thrale's  tea.  That  he  was  as  old  as  he 
had  the  credit  of  being,  I  have  the  evidence 
of  my  own  senses  (and  I  am  seldom  mistaken  in 
a  person's  age),  of  his  own  family,  and  his  own 
word  ;  and  it  is  incredible  that  so  old  a  person, 
and  one  so  apparently  near  the  grave,  would  de 
ceive  about  his  age. 

The  testimony  of  the  very  aged  is  always  to 


242  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

be  received  without  question,  as  Alexander  Ham 
ilton  once  learned.  He  was  trying  a  land-title 
with  Aaron  Burr,  and  two  of  the  witnesses  upon 
whom  Burr  relied  were  venerable  Dutchmen, 
who  had,  in  their  youth,  carried  the  surveying 
chains  over  the  land  in  dispute,  and  who  were 
now  aged  respectively  one  hundred  and  four 
years  and  one  hundred  and  six  years.  Hamilton 
gently  attempted  to  undervalue  their  testimony, 
but  he  was  instantly  put  down  by  the  Dutch  jus 
tice,  who  suggested  that  Mr.  Hamilton  could  not 
be  aware  of  the  age  of  the  witnesses. 

My  old  man  (the  expression  seems  familiar 
and  inelegant)  had  indeed  an  exaggerated  idea 
of  his  own  age,  and  sometimes  said  that  he  sup 
posed  he  was  going  on  four  hundred,  which  was 
true  enough,  in  fact  ;  but  for  the  exact  date,  he 
referred  to  his  youngest  son,  —  a  frisky  and  hum- 
orsome  lad  of  eighty  years,  who  had  received  ug 
at  the  gate,  and  whom  we  had  at  first  mistaken 
for  the  veteran,  his  father.  But  when  we  beheld 
the  old  man,  we  saw  the  difference  between  age 
and  age.  The  latter  had  settled  into  a  grizzli- 
ness  and  grimness  which  belong  to  a  very  aged 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  243 

and  stunted  but  sturdy  oak-tree,  upon  the  bark 
of  which  the  gray  moss  is  thick  and  heavy.  The 
old  man  appeared  hale  enough,  he  could  walk 
about,  his  sight  and  hearing  were  not  seriously 
impaired,  he  ate  with  relish,  and  his  teeth  were 
so  sound  that  he  would  not  need  a  dentist  for  at 
least  another  century  ;  but  the  moss  was  growing 
on  him.  His  boy  of  eighty  seemed  a  green  sap 
ling  beside  him. 

He  remembered  absolutely  nothing  that  had 
taken  place  within  thirty  years,  but  otherwise 
his  mind  was  perhaps  as  good  as  it  ever  was,  for 
he  must  always  have  been  an  ignoramus,  and 
would  never  know  anything  if  he  lived  to  be  as 
old  as  he  said  he  was  going  on  to  be.  Why  he 
was  interested  in  the  rebellion  of  1745  I  could 
not  discover,  for  he  of  course  did  not  go  over  to 
Scotland  to  carry  a  pike  in  it,  and  he  only  re 
membered  to  have  heard  it  talked  about  as  a 
great  event  in  the  Irish  market-town  near  which 
he  lived,  and  to  which  he  had  ridden  when  a  boy. 
And  he  knew  much  more  about  the  horse  that 
drew  him,  and  the  cart  in  which  he  rode,  than  he 
did  about  the  rebellion  of  the  Pretender. 


244  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

I  hope  I  do  not  appear  to  speak  harshly  of  this 
amiable  old  man,  and  if  he  is  still  living  I  wish 
him  well,  although  his  example  was  bad  in  some 
respects.  He  had  used  tobacco  for  nearly  a  cen 
tury,  and  the  habit  has  very  likely  been  the  death 
of  him.  If  so,  it  is  to  be  regretted.  For  it 
would  have  been  interesting  to  watch  the  process 
of  his  gradual  disintegration  and  return  to  the 
ground  ;  the  loss  of  sense  after  sense,  as  decay 
ing  limbs  fall  from  the  oak ;  the  failure  of  dis 
crimination,  of  the  power  of  choice,  and  finally 
of  memory  itself;  the  peaceful  wearing  out  and 
passing  away  of  body  and  mind  without  disease, 
the  natural  running  down  of  a  man.  The  inter 
esting  fact  about  him  at  that  time  was  that  his 
bodily  powers  seemed  in  sufficient  vigor,  but  that 
the  mind  had  not  force  enough  to  manifest  itself 
through  his  organs.  The  complete  battery  was 
there,  the  appetite  was  there,  the  acid  was  eating 
the  zinc  ;  but  the  electric  current  was  too  weak 
to  flash  from  the  brain.  And  yet  he  appeared  so 
sound  throughout,  that  it  was  difficult  to  say  that 
his  mind  was  not  as  good  as  it  ever  had  been. 
He  had  stored  in  it  very  little  to  feed  on,  and 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  245 

any  mind  would  get  enfeebled  by  a  century's 
rumination  on  a  hearsay  idea  of  the  rebellion 
of  '45. 

It  was  possible  with  this  man  to  fully  test 
one's  respect  for  age,  which  is  in  all  civilized 
nations  a  duty.  And  I  found  that  my  feelings 
were  mixed  about  him.  I  discovered  in  him  a 
conceit  in  regard  to  his  long  sojourn  on  this 
earth,  as  if  it  were  somehow  a  credit  to  him.  In 
the  presence  of  his  good  opinion  of  himself,  I 
could  but  question  the  real  value  of  his  continued 
life,  to  himself  or  to  others.  If  he  ever  had  any 
friends  he  had  outlived  them,  except  his  boy  ; 
his  wives  —  a  century  of  them  —  were  all  dead; 
the  world  had  actually  passed  away  for  him.  He 
hung  on  the  tree  like  a  frost-nipped  apple,  which 
the  farmer  has  neglected  to  gather.  The  world 
always  renews  itself,  and  remains  young.  What 
relation  had  he  to  it  ? 

I  was  delighted  to  find  that  this  old  man  had 
never  voted  for  George  Washington.  I  do  not 
know  that  he  had  ever  heard  of  him.  Washing 
ton  may  be  said  to  have  played  his  part  since 
his  time.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  perfectly  re- 


246  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

membered  anything  so  recent  as  the  American 
Revolution.  He  was  living  quietly  in  Ireland 
during  our  French  and  Indian  wars,  and  he  did 
not  emigrate  to  this  country  till  long  after  our 
revolutionary  and  our  constitutional  struggles 
were  over.  The  Rebellion  of  '45  was  the  great 
event  of  the  world  for  him,  and  of  that  he  knew 
nothing. 

I  intend  no  disrespect  to  this  man,  —  a  cheer 
ful  and  pleasant  enough  old  person,  —  but  he 
had  evidently  lived  himself  out  of  the  world,  as 
completely  as  people  usually  die  out  of  it.  His 
only  remaining  value  was  to  the  moralist,  who 
might  perchance  make  something  out  of  him. 
I  suppose  if  he  had  died  young,  he  would  have 
been  regretted,  and  his  friends  would  have  la 
mented  that  he  did  not  fill  out  his  days  in  the 
world,  and  would  very  likely  have  called  him  back, 
if  tears  and  prayers  could  have  done  so.  They 
can  see  now  what  his  prolonged  life  amounted  to, 
and  how  the  world  has  closed  up  the  gap  he  once 
filled  while  he  still  lives  in  it. 

A  great  part  of  the  unhappiness  of  this  world 
consists  in  regret  for  those  who  depart,  as  it 


BACKLOG  STUDIES,  247 

seems  to  us,  prematurely.  We  imagine  that  if 
they  would  return,  the  old  conditions  would  be 
restored.  But  would  it  be  so  ?  If  they,  in  any 
case,  came  back,  would  there  be  any  place  for 
them?  The.  world  so  quickly  readjusts  itself 
after  any  loss,  that  the  return  of  the  departed 
would  nearly  always  throw  it,  even  the  circle 
most  interested,  into  confusion.  Are  the  Enoch 
Ardens  ever  wanted  ? 


II. 

A  POPULAR  notion  akin  to  this,  that  the  world 
would  have  any  room  for  the  departed  if  they 
should  now  and  then  return,  is  the  constant  re 
gret  that  people  will  not  learn  by  the  experience 
of  others,  that  one  generation  learns  little  from 
the  preceding,  and  that  youth  never  will  adopt 
the  experience  of  age.  But  if  experience  went  for 
anything,  we  should  all  come  to  a  stand-still  ;  for 
there  is  nothing  so  discouraging  to  effort.  Dis 
belief  in  Ecclesiastes  is  the  main-spring  of  action. 
In  that  lies  the  freshness  and  the  interest  of  life, 
and  it  is  the  source  of  every  endeavor. 


248  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

If  the  boy  believed  that  the  accumulation  of 
wealth  and  the  acquisition  of  power  were  what 
the  old  man  says  they  are,  the  world  would  very 
soon  be  stagnant.  If  he  believed  that  his  chances 
of  obtaining  either  were  as  poor  as  the  majority 
of  men  find  them  to  be,  ambition  would  die 
within  him.  It  is  because  he  rejects  the  experi 
ence  of  those  who  have  preceded  him,  that  the 
world  is  kept  in  the  topsy-turvy  condition  which 
we  all  rejoice  in,  and  which  we  call  progress. 

And  yet  I  confess  I  have  a  soft  place  in  my 
heart  for  that  rare  character  in  our  New  England 
life  who  is  content  with  the  world  as  he  finds  it, 
and  who  does  not  attempt  to  appropriate  any 
more  of  it  to  himself  than  he  absolutely  needs 
from  day  to  day.  He  knows  from  the  beginning 
that  the  world  could  get  on  without  him,  and  he 
has  never  had  any  anxiety  to  leave  any  result 
behind  him,  any  legacy  for  the  world  to  quarrel 
over. 

He  is  really  an  exotic  in  our  New  England 
climate  and  society,  and  his  life  is-  perpetually 
misunderstood  by  his  neighbors,  because  he 
shares  none  of  their  uneasiness  about  getting  on 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  249 

in  life.  He  is  even  called  lazy,  good-for-nothing, 
and  "shiftless,"  —  the  final  stigma  that  we  put 
upon  a  person  who  has  learned  to  wait  without 
the  exhausting  process  of  laboring. 

I  made  his  acquaintance  last  summer  in  the 
country,  and  I  have  not  in  a  long  time  been  so 
well  pleased  with  any  of  our  species.  He  was 
a  man  past  middle  life,  with  a  large  family.  He 
had  always  been  from  boyhood  of  a  contented 
and  placid  mind,  slow  in  his  movements,  slow  in 
his  speech.  I  think  he  never  cherished  a  hard 
feeling  toward  anybody,  nor  envied  any  one,  least 
of  all  the  rich  and  prosperous  about  whom  he 
liked  to  talk.  Indeed,  his  talk  was  a  good  deal 
about  wealth,  especially  about  his  cousin  who 
had  been  down  South  and  "  got  fore-handed " 
within  a  few  years.  He  was  genuinely  pleased 
at  his  relation's  good  luck,  and  pointed  him  out 
to  me  with  some  pride.  But  he  had  no  envy  of 
him,-  and  he  evinced  no  desire  to  imitate  him.  I 
inferred  from  all  his  conversation  about  "piling 
it  up,"  (of  which  he  spoke  with  a  gleam  of  en 
thusiasm  in  his  eye,)  that  there  were  moments 
when  he  would  like  to  be  rich  himself;  but  it  was 


2$O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

evident  that  he  would  never  make  the  least  effort 
to  be  so,  and  I  doubt  if  he  could  even  overcome 
that  delicious  inertia  of  mind  and  body  called 
laziness,  sufficiently  to  inherit. 

Wealth  seemed  to  have  a  far  and  peculiar 
fascination  for  him,  and  I  suspect  he  was  a 
visionary  in  the  midst  of  his  poverty.  Yet  I 
suppose  he  had  hardly  the  personal  property 
which  the  law  exempts  from  execution.  He  had 
lived  in  a  great  many  towns,  moving  from  one 
to  another  with  his  growing  family,  by  easy 
stages,  and  was  always  the  poorest  man  in  the 
town,  and  lived  on  the  most  niggardly  of  its 
rocky  and  bramble-grown  farms,  the  productive 
ness  of  which  he  reduced  to  zero  in  a  couple  of 
seasons  by  his  careful  neglect  of  culture.  The 
fences  of  his  hired  domain  always  fell  into  ruins 
under  him,  perhaps  because  he  sat  on  them  so 
much,  and  the  hovels  he  occupied  rotted  down 
during  his  placid  residence  in  them.  He  moved 
from  desolation  to  desolation,  but  carried  always 
with  him  the  equal  mind  of  a  philosopher.  Not 
even  the  occasional  tart  remarks  of  his  wife, 
about  their  nomadic  life  and  his  serenity  in  the 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  251 

midst  of  discomfort,  could  ruffle  his  smooth 
spirit. 

He  was,  in  every  respect,  a  most  worthy  man, 
truthful,  honest,  temperate,  and,  I  need  not  say, 
frugal;  and  he  had  no  bad  habits,  —  perhaps  he 
never  had  energy  enough  to  acquire  any.  Nor 
did  he  lack  the  knack  of  the  Yankee  race.  He 
could  make  a  shoe,  or  build  a  house,  or  doctor  a 
cow  ;  but  it  never  seemed  to  him,  in  this  brief 
existence,  worth  while  to  do  any  of  these  things. 
He  was  an  excellent  angler,  but  he  rarely  fished ; 
partly  because  of  the  shortness  of  days,  partly 
on  account  of  the  uncertainty  of  bites,  but  prin 
cipally  because  the  trout  brooks  were  all  arranged 
lengthwise  and  ran  over  so  much  ground.  But 
no  man  liked  to  look  at  a  string  of  trout  better 
than  he  did,  and  he  was  willing  to  sit  down  in 
a  sunny  place  and  talk  about  trout-fishing  half  a 
day  at  a  time,  and  he  would  talk  pleasantly  and 
well  too,  though  his  wife  might  be  continually 
interrupting  him  by  a  call  for  firewood. 

I  should  not  do  justice  to  his  own  idea  of  him 
self  if  I  did  not  add  that  he  was  most  respect 
ably  connected,  and  that  he  had  a  justifiable, 


252  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

though  feeble  pride  in  his  family.  It  helped  his 
self-respect,  which  no  ignoble  circumstances 
could  destroy.  He  was,  as  must  appear  by  this 
time,  a  most  intelligent  man,  and  he  was  a  well- 
informed  man  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  read  the  weekly 
newspapers  when  he  could  get  them,  and  he  had 
the  average  country  information  about  Beecher 
and  Greeley  and  the  Prussian  war,  ("  Napoleon 
is  gettin'  on  't,  ain't  he  ? ")  and  the  general  pros 
pect  of  the  election  campaigns.  Indeed,  he  was 
warmly,  or  rather  luke-warmly,  interested  in  poli 
tics.  He  liked  to  talk  about  the  inflated  cur 
rency,  and  it  seemed  plain  to  him  that  his  con 
dition  would  somehow  be  improved  if  we  could 
get  to  a  specie  basis.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  little 
troubled  by  the  national  debt ;  it  seemed  to  press 
on  him  somehow,  while  his  own  never  did.  He 
exhibited  more  animation  over  the  affairs  of  the 
government  than  he  did  over  his  own,  —  an  evi 
dence  at  once  of  his  disinterestedness  and  his 
patriotism.  He  had  been  an  old  abolitionist,  and 
was  strong  on  the  rights  of  free  labor,  though  he 
did  not  care  to  exercise  his  privilege  much.  Of 
course  he  had  the  proper  contempt  for  the  poor 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  253 

whites  down  South.  I  never  saw  a  person  with 
more  correct  notions  on  such  a  variety  of  subjects. 
He  was  perfectly  willing  that  churches,  (being 
himself  a  member,)  and  Sunday-schools,  and 
missionary  enterprises  should  go  on  ;  in  fact,  I 
do  not  believe  he  ever  opposed  anything  in  his 
life.  No  one  was  more  willing  to  vote  town  taxes 
and  road-repairs  and  schoolhouses  than  he.  If 
you  could  call  him  spirited  at  all,  he  was  public- 
spirited. 

And  with  all  this  he  was  never  very  well ;  he 
had,  from  boyhood,  "  enjoyed  poor  health."  You 
would  say  he  was  not  a  man  who  would  ever 
catch  anything,  not  even  an  epidemic  ;  but  he 
was  a  person  whom  diseases  would  be  likely  to 
overtake,  even  the  slowest  of  slow  fevers.  And 
he  was  n't  a  man  to  shake  off  anything.  And 
yet  sickness  seemed  to  trouble  him  no  more  than 
poverty.  He  was  not  discontented  ;  he  never 
grumbled.  I  am  not  sure  but  he  relished  a 
"  spell  of  sickness  "  in  haying-time. 

An  admirably  balanced  man,  who  accepts  the 
world  as  it  is,  and  evidently  lives  on  the  experi 
ence  of  others.  I  have  never  seen  a  man  with 


254  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

less  envy,  or  more  cheerfulness,  or  so  contented 
with  as  little  reason  for  being  so.  The  only  draw 
back  to  his  future  is  that  rest  beyond  the  grave 
will  not  be  much  change  for  him,  and  he  has  no 
works  to  follow  him. 


III. 

THIS  Yankee  philosopher,  who,  without  being 
a  Brahmin,  had,  in  an  uncongenial  atmosphere, 
reached  the  perfect  condition  of  Nirvana,  re 
minded  us  all  of  the  ancient  sages ;  and  we 
queried  whether  a  world  that  could  produce  such 
as  he,  and  could,  beside,  lengthen  a  man's  years 
to  one  hundred  and  thirteen,  could  fairly  be  called 
an  old  and  worn-out  world,  having  long  passed 
the  stage  of  its  primeval  poetry  and  simplicity. 
Many  an  Eastern  dervish  has,  I  think,  got  immor 
tality  upon  less  laziness  and  resignation  than  this 
temporary  sojourner  in  Massachusetts.  It  is  a 
common  notion  that  the  world  (meaning  the 
people  in  it)  has  become  tame  and  common 
place,  lost  its  primeval  freshness  and  epigram 
matic  point.  '  Mandeville,  in  his  argumentative 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  255 

way,  dissents  from  this  entirely.  He  says  that 
the  world  is  more  complex,  varied,  and  a  thousand 
times  as  interesting  as  it  was  in  what  we  call  its 
youth,  and  that  it  is  as  fresh,  as  individual,  and 
capable  of  producing  odd  and  eccentric  charac 
ters  as  ever.  He  thought  the  creative  vim  had 
not  in  any  degree  abated,  that  both  the  types  of 
men  and  of  nations  are  as  sharply  stamped  and 
defined  as  ever  they  were. 

Was  there  ever,  he  said,  in  the  past,  any  figure 
more  clearly  cut  and  freshly  minted  than  the 
Yankee  ?  Had  the  Old  World  anything  to  show 
more  positive  and  uncompromising  in  all  the 
elements  of  character  than  the  Englishman  ? 
And  if  the  edges  of  these  were  being  rounded 
off,  was  there  not  developing  in  the  extreme  West 
a  type  of  men  different  from  all  preceding,  which 
the  world  could  not  yet  define  ?  He  believed 
that  the  production  of  original  types  was  simply 
infinite. 

Herbert  urged  that  he  must  at  least  admit  that 
there  was  a  freshness  of  legend  and  poetry  in 
what  we  call  the  primeval  peoples  that  is  wanting 
now  ;  the  mythic  period  is  gone,  at  any  rate. 


256  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

Mandeville  could  not  say  about  the  myths. 
We  could  n't  tell  what  interpretation  succeeding 
ages  would  put  upon  our  lives  and  history  and 
literature  when  they  have  become  remote  and 
shadowy.  But  we  need  not  go  to  antiquity  for 
epigrammatic  wisdom,  or  for  characters  as  racy 
of  the  fresh  earth  as  those  handed  down  to  us 
from  the  dawn  of  history.  He  would  put  Ben 
jamin  Franklin  against  any  of  the  sages  of  the 
mythic  or  the  classic  period.  He  would  have 
been  perfectly  at  home  in  ancient  Athens,  as 
Socrates  would  have  been  in  modern  Boston. 
There  might  have  been  more  heroic  characters 
at  the  siege  of  Troy  than  Abraham  Lincoln,  but 
there  was  not  one  more  strongly  marked  individ 
ually  ;  not  one  his  superior  in  what  we  call  pri 
meval  craft  and  humor.  He  was  just  the  man, 
if  he  could  not  have  dislodged  Priam  by  a  writ 
of  ejectment,  to  have  invented  the  wooden  horse, 
and  then  to  have  made  Paris  the  hero  of  some 
ridiculous  story  that  would  have  set  all  Asia  in  a 
roar. 

Mandeville  said  further,  that  as  to  poetry,  he 
did  not  know  much  about  that,  and  there  was  not 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


much  he  cared  to  read  except  parts  of  Shake 
speare  and  Homer,  and  passages  of  Milton.  But 
it  did  seem  to  him  that  we  had  men  nowadays, 
who  could,  if  they  would  give  their  minds  to  it, 
manufacture  in  quantity  the  same  sort  of  epi 
grammatic  sayings  and  legends  that  our  scholars 
were  digging  out  of  the  Orient.  He  did  not 
know  why  Emerson  in  antique  setting  was  not 
as  good  as  Saadi.  Take  for  instance,  said  Man- 
deville,  such  a  legend  as  this,  and  how  easy  it 
would  be  to  make  others  like  it:  — 

The  son  of  an  Emir  had  red  hair,  of  which  he 
was  ashamed,  and  wished  to  dye  it.  But  his 
father  said  :  "  Nay,  my  son,  rather  behave  in  such 
a  manner  that  all  fathers  shall  wish  their  sons 
had  red  hair!' 

This  was  too  absurd.  Mandeville  had  gone  too 
far,  except  in  the  opinion  of  Our  Next  Door,  who 
declared  that  an  imitation  was  just  as  good  as 
an  original,  if  you  could  not  detect  it.  But  Her 
bert  said  that  the  closer  an  imitation  is  to  an 
original,  the  more  unendurable  it  is.  But  nobody 
could  tell  exactly  why. 

The  Fire-Tender  said  that  we  are  imposed  on 


258 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


by  forms.  The  nuggets  of  wisdom  that  are  dug 
out  of  the  Oriental  and  remote  literatures  would 
often  prove  to  be  only  commonplace  if  stripped 
of  their  quaint  setting.  If  you  give  an  Oriental 
twist  to  some  of  our  modern  thought  its  value 
would  be  greatly  enhanced  for  many  people. 

I  have  seen  those,  said  the  Mistress,  who  seem 
to  prefer  dried  fruit  to  fresh ;  but  I  like  the 
strawberry  and  the  peach  of  each  season,  and 
for  me  the  last  is  always  the  best. 

Even  the  Parson  admitted  that  there  were  no 
signs  of  fatigue  or  decay  in  the  creative  energy 
of  the  world  ;  and  if  it  is  a  question  of  Pagans, 
he  preferred  Mandeville  to  Saadi. 


|T  happened,  or  rather,  to  tell  the  truth, 
^  it  was  contrived,  —  for  I  have  waited 
too  long  for  things  to  turn  up  to  have 
much  faith  in  "  happen,"  —  that  we  who  have 
sat  by  this  hearthstone  before  should  all  be 
together  on  Christmas  eve.  There  was  a  splen 
did  backlog  of  hickory  just  beginning  to  burn  with 
a  glow  that  promised  to  grow  more  fiery  till  long 
past  midnight,  which  would  have  needed  no 
apology  in  a  loggers'  camp,  —  not  so  much  as 
the  religion  of  which  a  lady  (in  a  city  which 
shall  be  nameless)  said,  "  If  you  must  have  a 
religion,  this  one  will  do  nicely." 

There  was  not  much  conversation,  as  is  apt  to 
be  the  case  when  people  come  together  who  have 


260  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

a  great  deal  to  say,  and  are  intimate  enough  to 
permit  the  freedom  of  silence.  It  was  Mande- 
ville  who  suggested  that  we  read  something,  and 
the  Young  Lady,  who  was  in  a  mood  to  enjoy 
her  own  thoughts,  said,  "Do."  And  finally  it 
came  about  that  the  Fire-Tender,  without  more 
resistance  to  the  urging  than  was  becoming,  went 
to  his  library,  and  returned  with  a  manuscript, 
from  which  he  read  the  story  of 

MY  UNCLE   IN  INDIA. 

NOT  that  it  is  my  uncle,  let  me  explain.  It  is 
Polly's  uncle,  as  I  very  well  know,  from  the  many 
times  she  has  thrown  him  up  to  me,  and  is  liable 
so  to  do  at  any  moment.  Having  small  expecta 
tions  myself,  and  having  wedded  Polly  when  they 
were  smaller,  I  have  come  to  feel  the  full  force, 
the  crushing  weight,  of  her  lightest  remark  about 
"  My  Uncle  in  India."  The  words  as  I  write 
them  convey  no  idea  of  the  tone  in  which  they 
fall  upon  my  ears.  I  think  it  is  the  only  fault  of 
that  estimable  woman,  that  she  has  an  uncle  in 
India,  and  does  not  let  him  quietly  remain  there. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  261 


I  feel  quite  sure  that  if  I  had  an  uncle  in  Botany 
Bay,  I  should  never,  never  throw  him  up  to  Polly 
in  the  way  mentioned.  If  there  is  any  jar  in  our 
quiet  life,  he  is  the  cause  of  it ;  all  along  of  pos 
sible  "expectations"  on  the  one  side  calculated 
to  overawe  the  other  side  not  having  expecta 
tions.  And  yet  I  know  that  if  her  uncle  in  India 
were  this  night  to  roll  a  barrel  of  "  India's  golden 
sands,"  as  I  feel  that  he  any  moment  may  do, 
into  our  sitting-room,  at  Polly's  feet,  that  charm 
ing  wife,  who  is  more  generous  than  the  month 
of  May,  and  who  has  no  thought  but  for  my  com 
fort  in  two  worlds,  would  straightway  make  it 
over  to  me,  to  have  and  to  hold,  if  I  could  lift  it, 
forever  and  forever.  And  that  makes  it  more 
inexplicable  that  she,  being  a  woman,  will  con 
tinue  to  mention  him  in  the  way  she  does. 

In  a  large  and  general  way  I  regard  uncles  as 
not  out  of  place  in  this  transitory  state  of  exist 
ence.  They  stand  for  a  great  many  possible 
advantages.  They  are  liable  to  "  tip "  you  at 
school,  they  are  resources  in  vacation,  they  come 
grandly  in  play  about  the  holidays,  at  which  sea 
son  my  heart  always  did  warm  towards  them 


262  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

with  lively  expectations,  which  were  often  turned 
into  golden  solidities  ;  and  then  there  is  always 
the  prospect,  sad  to  a  sensitive  mind,  that  uncles 
are  mortal,  and,  in  their  timely  taking  off,  may 
prove  as  generous  in  the  will  as  they  were  in  the 
deed.  And  there  is  always  this  redeeming  possi 
bility  in  a  niggardly  uncle.  Still  there  must  be 
something  wrong  in  the  character  of  the  uncle 
per  se,  or  all  history  would  not  agree  that  nepo 
tism  is  such  a  dreadful  thing. 

But,  to  return  from  this  unnecessary  digression, 
I  am  reminded  that  the  charioteer  of  the  patient 
year  has  brought  round  the  holiday  time.  It 
has  been  a  growing  year,  as  most  years  are.  It  is 
very  pleasant  to  see  how  the  shrubs  in  our  little 
patch  of  ground  widen  and  thicken  and  bloom  at 
the  right  time,  and  to  know  that  the  great  trees 
have  added  a  layer  to  their  trunks.  To  be  sure, 
our  garden,  —  which  I  planted  under  Polly's  direc 
tions,  with  seeds  that  must  have  been  patented, 
and  I  forgot  to  buy  the  right  of,  for  they  are 
mostly  still  waiting  the  final  resurrection, —  gave 
evidence  that  it  shared  in  the  misfortune  of  the 
Fall,  and  was  never  an  Eden  from  which  one 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  263 

would  have  required  to  have  been  driven.  It  was 
the  easiest  garden  to  keep  the  neighbors'  pigs  and 
hens  out  of  I  ever  saw.  If  its  increase  was  small, 
its  temptations  were  smaller,  and  that  is  no  little 
recommendation  in  this  world  of  temptations. 
But,  as  a  general  thing,  everything  has  grown, 
except  our  house.  That  little  cottage,  over  which 
Polly  presides  with  grace  enough  to  adorn  a  pal 
ace,  is  still  small  outside  and  smaller  inside  ;  and 
if  it  has  an  air  of  comfort  and  of  neatness,  and  its 
rooms  are  cosey  and  sunny  by  day  and  cheerful 
by  night,  and  it  is  bursting  with  books,  and  not 
unattractive  with  modest  pictures  on  the  walls, 
which  we  think  do  well  enough  until  my  uncle  — 
(but  never  mind  my  uncle,  now),  —  and  if,  in  the 
long  winter  evenings,  when  the  largest  lamp  is 
lit,  and  the  chestnuts  glow  in  embers,  and  the  kid 
turns  on  the  spit,  and  the  house-plants  are  green 
and  flowering,  and  the  ivy  glistens  in  the  fire 
light,  and  Polly  sits  with  that  contented,  far-away 
look  in  her  eyes  that  I  like  to  see,  her  fingers 
busy  upon  one  of  those  cruel  mysteries  which 
have  delighted  the  sex  since  Penelope,  and  I  read 
in  one  of  my  fascinating  law-books,  or  perhaps 


264  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

regale  ourselves  with  a  taste  of  Montaigne,  —  if 
all  this  is  true,  there  are  times  when  the  cottage 
seems  small ;  though  I  can  never  find  that  Polly 
thinks  so,  except  when  she  sometimes  says  that 
she  does  not  know  where  she  should  bestow  her 
uncle  in  it,  if  he  should  suddenly  come  back  from 
India. 

There  it  is,  again.  I  sometimes  think  that  my 
wife  believes  her  uncle  in  India  to  be  as  large  as 
two  ordinary  men  ;  and  if  her  ideas  of  him  are 
any  gauge  of  the  reality,  there  is  no  place  in  the 
town  large  enough  for  him  except  the  Town  Hall. 
She  probably  expects  him  to  come  with  his  bun 
galow,  and  his  sedan,  and  his  palanquin,  and  his 
elephants,  and  his  retinue  of  servants,  and  his 
principalities,  and  his  powers,  and  his  ha  — 
(no,  not  that),  and  his  chow-chow,  and  his  —  I 
scarcely  know  what  besides. 

Christmas  eve  was  a  shiny  cold  night,  a  creaking 
cold  night,  a  placid,  calm,  swingeing  cold  night. 
Out-doors  had  gone  into  a  general  state  of  crys 
tallization.  The  snow-fields  were  like  the  vast 
Arctic  ice-fields  that  Kane  looked  on,  and  lay 
sparkling  under  the  moonlight,  crisp  and  Christ- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  26$ 

masy,  and  all  the  crystals  on  the  trees  and  bushes 
hung  glistening,  as  if  ready,  at  a  breath  of  air,  to 
break  out  into  metallic  ringing,  like  a  million 
silver  joy-bells.  I  mentioned  the  conceit  to  Polly, 
as  we  stood  at  the  window,  and  she  said  it  re 
minded  her  of  Jean  Paul.  She  is  a  woman  of 
most  remarkable  discernment. 

Christmas  is  a  great  festival  at  our  house  in  a 
small  way.  Among  the  many  delightful  customs 
we  did  not  inherit  from  our  Pilgrim  Fathers, 
there  is  none  so  pleasant  as  that  of  giving  pres 
ents  at  this  season.  It  is  the  most  exciting  time 
of  the  year.  No  one  is  too  rich  to  receive  some 
thing,  and  no  one  too  poor  to  give  a  trifle.  And 
in  the  act  of  giving  and  receiving  these  tokens  of 
regard,  all  the  world  is  kin  for  once,  and  brighter 
for  this  transient  glow  of  generosity.  Delightful 
custom  !  Hard  is  the  lot  of  childhood  that  knows 
nothing  of  the  visits  of  Kriss  Kringle,  or  the 
stockings  hung  by  the  chimney  at  night ;  and 
cheerless  is  any  age  that  is  not  brightened  by 
some  Christmas  gift,  however  humble.  What  a 
mystery  of  preparation  there  is  in  the  preceding 
days,  what  planning  and  plottings  of  surprises! 


266  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

Polly  and  I  keep  up  the  custom  in  our  simple 
way,  and  great  is  the  perplexity  to  express  the 
greatest  amount  of  affection  with  a  limited  outlay. 
For  the  excellence  of  a  gift  lies  in  its  appropriate 
ness  rather  than  in  its  value.  As  we  stood  by 
the  window  that  night,  we  wondered  what  we 
should  receive  this  year,  and  indulged  in  I  know 
not  what  little  hypocrisies  and  deceptions. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Polly,  "  that  my  uncle  in  India 
would  send  me  a  camel's-hair  shawl,  or  a  string 
of  pearls,  each  as  big  as  the  end  of  my  thumb." 

"  Or  a  white  cow,  which  would  give  golden 
milk,  that  would  make  butter  worth  seventy-five 
cents  a  pound,"  I  added,  as  we  drew  the  curtains, 
and  turned  to  our  chairs  before  the  open  fire. 

It  is  our  custom  on  every  Christmas  eve  —  as  I 
believe  I  have  somewhere  said,  or  if  I  have  not,  I 
say  it  again,  as  the  member  from  Erin  might  re 
mark  —  to  read  one  of  Dickens's  Christmas  stories. 
And  this  night,  after  punching  the  fire  until  it 
sent  showers  of  sparks  up  the  chimney,  I  read  the 
opening  chapter  of  "  Mrs.  Lirriper's  Lodgings,"  in 
my  best  manner,  and  handed  the  book  to  Polly  to 
continue ;  for  I  do  not  so  much  relish  reading 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  267 

aloud  the  succeeding  stories  of  Mr.  Dickens's 
annual  budget,  since  he  wrote  them,  as  men  go 
to  war  in  these  days,  by  substitute.  And  Polly 
read  on,  in  her  melodious  voice,  which  is  almost 
as  pleasant  to  me  as  the  Wasser-flute  of  Schubert, 
which  she  often  plays  at  twilight  ;  and  I  looked 
into  the  fire,  unconsciously  constructing  stories 
of  my  own  out  of  the  embers.  And  her  voice 
still  went  on,  in  a  sort  of  running  accompaniment 
to  my  airy  or  fiery  fancies. 

"'Sleep?"  said  Polly,  stopping,  with  what 
seemed  to  me  a  sort  of  crash,  in  which  all  the 
castles  tumbled  into  ashes. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  I  answered  brightly  ;  "  never 
heard  anything  more  agreeable."  And  the  read 
ing  flowed  on  and  on  and  on,  and  I  looked 
steadily  into  the  fire,  the  fire,  fire,  fi — 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  into  our  cosey 
parlor  walked  the  most  venerable  personage  I 
ever  laid  eyes  on,  who  saluted  me  with  great 
dignity.  Summer  seemed  to  have  burst  into  the 
room,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  puff  of  Oriental 
airs,  and  a  delightful,  languid  tranquillity.  I  was 
not  surprised  that  the  figure  before  me  was  clad 


268  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

in  full  turban,  baggy  drawers,  and  a  long  loose 
robe,  girt  about  the  middle  with  a  rich  shawl. 
Followed  him  a  swart  attendant,  who  hastened  to 
spread  a  rug  upon  which  my  visitor  sat  down, 
with  great  gravity,  as  I  am  informed  they  do  in 
farthest  Ind.  The  slave  then  filled  the  bowl  of  a 
long-stemmed  chibouk,  and,  handing  it  to  his 
master,  retired  behind  him  and  began  to  fan  him 
with  the  most  prodigious  palm-leaf  I  ever  saw. 
Soon  the  fumes  of  the  delicate  tobacco  of  Persia 
pervaded  the  room,  like  some  costly  aroma  which 
you  cannot  buy,  now  the  entertainment  of  the 
Arabian  Nights  is  discontinued. 

Looking  through  the  window  I  saw,  if  I  saw 
anything,  a  palanquin  at  our  door,  and  attendant 
on  it  four  dusky,  half-naked  bearers,  who  did  not 
seem  to  fancy  the  splendor  of  the  night,  for  they 
jumped  about  on  the  snow  crust,  and  I  could  see 
them  shiver  and  shake  in  the  keen  air.  Oho ! 
thought  I,  this,  then,  is  my  uncle  from  India  ! 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  now  spoke  my  visitor  extraordi 
nary,  in  a  gruff,  harsh  voice. 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  Polly  speak  of  you,"  I 
rejoined,  in  an  attempt  to  be  civil,  for  I  did  n't  like 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  269 

his  face  any  better  than  I  did  his  voice,  —  a  red, 
fiery,  irascible  kind  of  face. 

"  Yes,  I  Ve  come  over  to —  O  Lord,  —  quick, 
Jamsetzee,  lift  up  that  foot,  —  take  care.  There, 
Mr.  Trimings,  if  that  's  your  name,  get  me  a  glass 
of  brandy,  stiff." 

I  got  him  our  little  apothecary-labelled  bottle 
and  poured  out  enough  to  preserve  a  whole  can 
of  peaches.  My  uncle  took  it  down  without  a 
wink,  as  if  it  had  been  water,  and  seemed  relieved. 
It  was  a  very  pleasant  uncle  to  have  at  our  fire 
side  on  Christmas  eve,  I  felt. 

At  a  motion  from  my  uncle,  Jamsetzee  handed 
me  a  parcel  which  I  saw  was  directed  to  Polly, 
which  I  untied,  and  lo  !  the  most  wonderful  cam- 
el's-hair  shawl  that  ever  was,  so  fine  that  I  imme 
diately  drew  it  through  my  finger-ring,  and  so 
large  that  I  saw  it  would  entirely  cover  our  little 
room  if  I  spread  it  out ;  a  dingy  red  color,  but 
splendid  in  appearance  from  the  little  white  hie 
roglyphic  worked  in  one  corner,  which  is  always 
worn  outside,  to  show  that  it  cost  nobody  knows 
how  many  thousands  of  dollars. 

"A    Christmas  trifle  for  Polly.     I  have  come 


2/O  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

home  —  as  I  was  saying  when  that  confounded 
twinge  took  me  —  to  settle  down  ;  and  I  intend 
to  make  Polly  my  heir,  and  live  at  my  ease  and 
enjoy  life.  Move  that  leg  a  little,  Jamsetzee." 

I  meekly  replied  that  I  had  no  doubt  Polly 
would  be  delighted  to  see  her  dear  uncle,  and  as 
for  inheriting,  if  it  came  to  that,  I  did  n't  know 
any  one  with  a  greater  capacity  for  that  than 
she. 

"That  depends,"  said  the  gruff  old  smoker, 
"  how  I  like  ye.  A  fortune,  scraped  up  in  forty 
years  in  Ingy,  ain't  to  be  thrown  away  in  a  min 
ute.  But  what  a  house  this  is  to  live  in!"  the 
uncomfortable  old  relative  went  on,  throwing  a 
contemptuous  glance  round  the  humble  cottage. 
"  Is  this  all  of  it  ?  " 

"  In  the  winter  it  is  all  of  it,"  I  said,  flushing 
up;  "but  in  the  summer,  when  the  doors  and 
windows  are  open,  it  is  as  large  as  anybody's 
house.  And,"  I  went  on,  with  some  warmth,  "it 
was  large  enough  just  before  you  came  in,  and 
pleasant  enough.  And  besides,"  I  said,  rising, 
into  indignation,  "you  cannot  get  anything  much 
better  in  this  city  short  of  eight  hundred  dollars 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  2/1 

a  year,  payable  first  days  of  January,  April,  July, 
and  October,  in  advance,  and  my  salary  — 

"  Hang  your  salary,  and  confound  your  impu 
dence  and  your  seven-by-nine  hovel !  Do  you 
think  you  have  anything  to  say  about  the  use  of 
my  money,  scraped  up  in  forty  years  in  Ingy  ? 
THINGS  HAVE  GOT  TO  BE  CHANGED  ! "  he  burst 
out,  in  a  voice  that  rattled  the  glasses  on  the 
sideboard. 

I  should  think  they  were.  Even  as  I  looked 
into  the  little  fireplace  it  enlarged,  and  there  was 
an  enormous  grate,  level  with  the  floor,  glowing 
with  sea-coal ;  and  a  magnificent  mantel  carved 
in  oak,  old  and  brown  ;  and  over  it  hung  a  land 
scape,  wide,  deep,  summer  in  the  foreground  with 
all  the  gorgeous  coloring  of  the  tropics,  and  be 
yond  hills  of  blue  and  far  mountains  lying  in  rosy 
light  I  held  my  breath  as  I  looked  down  the 
marvellous  perspective.  Looking  round  for  a 
second,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  Hindoo  at  each 
window,  who  vanished  as  if  they  had  been 
whisked  off  by  enchantment ;  and  the  close 
walls  that  shut  us  in  fled  away.  Had  cohe 
sion  and  gravitation  given  out  ?  Was  it  the 


2/2  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

"Great  Consummation"  of  the  year  18 — ?  It 
was  all  like  the  swift  transformation  of  a  dream, 
and  I  pinched  my  arm  to  make  sure  that  I  was 
not  the  subject  of  some  diablerie. 

The  little  house  was  gone  ;  but  that  I  scarcely 
minded,  for  I  had  suddenly  come  into  possession 
of  my  wife's  castle  in  Spain.  I  sat  in  a  spacious, 
lofty  apartment,  furnished  with  a  princely  mag 
nificence.  Rare  pictures  adorned  the  walls,  stat 
ues  looked  down  from  deep  niches,  and  over 
both  the  dark  ivy  of  England  ran  and  drooped 
in  graceful  luxuriance.  Upon  the  heavy  tables 
were  costly,  illuminated  volumes  ;  luxurious  chairs 
and  ottomans  invited  to  easy  rest  ;  and  upon  the 
ceiling  Aurora  led  forth  all  the  flower-strewing 
daughters  of  the  dawn  in  brilliant  frescos. 
Through  the  open  doors  my  eyes  wandered 
into  magnificent  apartment  after  apartment. 
There  to  the  south,  through  folding-doors,  was 
the  splendid  library,  with  groined  roof,  colored 
light  streaming  in  through  painted  windows,  high 
shelves  stowed  with  books,  old  armor  hanging  on 
the  walls,  great  carved  oaken  chairs  about  a  solid 
oaken  table,  and  beyond  a  conservatory  of  flowers 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  273 


and  plants  with  a  fountain  springing  in  the  cen 
tre,  the  splashing  of  whose  waters  I  could  hear. 
Through  the  open  windows  I  looked  upon  a  lawn, 
green  with  close-shaven  turf,  set  with  ancient 
trees,  and  variegated  with  parterres  of  summer 
plants  in  bloom.  .It  was  the  month  of  June,  and 
the  smell  of  roses  was  in  the  air. 

I  might  have  thought  it  only  a  freak  of  my 
fancy,  but  there  by  the  fireplace  sat  a  stout,  red- 
faced,  puffy-looking  man,  in  the  ordinary  dress  of 
an  English  gentleman,  whom  I  had  no  difficulty 
in  recognizing  as  my  uncle  from  India. 

"  One  wants  a  fire  everyday  in  the  year  in  this 
confounded  climate,"  remarked  that  amiable  old 
person,  addressing  no  one  in  particular. 

I  had  it  on  my  lips  to  suggest  that  I  trusted 
the  day  would  come  when  he  would  have  heat 
enough  to  satisfy  him,  in  permanent  supply.  I 
wish  now  that  I  had. 

I  think  things  had  changed.  For  now  into 
this  apartment,  full  of  the  morning  sunshine, 
came  sweeping  with  the  air  of  a  countess  born, 
and  a  maid  of  honor  bred,  and  a  queen  in  expec 
tancy,  my  Polly,  stepping  with  that  lofty  grace 


274  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

which  I  always  knew  she  possessed,  but  which 
she  never  had  space  to  exhibit  in  our  little  cot 
tage,  dressed  with  that  elegance  and  richness 
that  I  should  not  have  deemed  possible  to  the 
most  Dutch  duchess  that  ever  lived,  and,  giving 
Ine  a  complacent  nod  of  recognition,  approached 
her  uncle,  and  said  in  her  smiling,  cheery  way, 
"  How  is  the  dear  uncle  this  morning?"  And, 
as  she  spoke,  she  actually  bent  down  and  kissed 
his  horrid  old  cheek,  red-hot  with  currie  and 
brandy  and  all  the  biting  pickles  I  can  neither 
eat  nor  name,  —  kissed  him,  and  I  did  not  turn 
into  stone. 

"  Comfortable  as  the  weather  will  permit,  my 
darling  !  "  — and  again  I  did  not  turn  into  stone. 

"  Would  n't  uncle  like  to  take  a  drive  this 
charming  morning  ?  "  Polly  asked. 

Uncle  finally  grunted  out  his  willingness,  and 
Polly  swept  away  again  to  prepare  for  the  drive, 
taking  no  more  notice  of  me  than  if  I  had  been 
a  poor  assistant  office  lawyer  on  a  salary.  And 
soon  the  carriage  was  at  the  door,  and  my  uncle, 
bundled  up  like  a  mummy,  and  the  charming 
Polly  drove  gayly  away. 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  275 

How  pleasant  it  is  to  be  married  rich,  I  thought, 
as  I  arose  and  .strolled  into  the  library,  where 
everything  was  elegant  and  prim  and  neat,  with 
no  scraps  of  paper  and  piles  of  newspapers  or  evi 
dences  of  literary  slovenness  on  the  table,  and  no 
books  in  attractive  disorder,  and  where  I  seemed 
to  see  the  legend  staring  at  me  from  all  the  walls, 
"  No  smoking."  So  I  uneasily  lounged  out  of 
the  house.  And  a  magnificent  house  it  was, 
a  palace,  rather,  that  seemed  to  frown  upon  and 
bully  insignificant  me  with  its  splendor,  as  I 
walked  away  from  it  towards  town. 

And  why  town  ?  There  was  no  use  of  doing 
anything  at  the  dingy  office.  Eight  hundred 
dollars  a  year  !  It  would  n't  keep  Polly  in 
gloves,  let  alone  dressing  her  for  one  of  those 
fashionable  entertainments  to  which  we  went 
night  after  night.  And  so,  after  a  weary  day 
with  nothing  in  it,  I  went  home  to  dinner,  to 
find  my  uncle  quite  chirruped  up  with  his  drive, 
and  Polly  regnant,  sublimely  engrossed  in  her 
new  world  of  splendor,  a  dazzling  object  of  admi 
ration  to  me,  but  attentive  and  even  tender  to  that 
hypochondriacal,  gouty  old  subject  from  India. 


2/6  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

Yes,  a  magnificent  dinner,  with  no  end  of  ser 
vants,  who  seemed  to  know  that  I  could  n't  have 
paid  the  wages  of  one  of  them,  and  plate  and 
courses  endless.  I  say,  a  miserable  dinner,  on 
the  edge  of  which  I  seemed  to  sit  by  permission 
of  somebody,  like  an  invited  poor  relation,  who 
wishes  he  had  sent  a  regret,  and  longing  for  some 
of  those  nice  little  dishes  that  Polly  used  to  set 
before  me  with  beaming  face,  in  the  dear  old 
days. 

And  after  dinner,  and  proper  attention  to  the 
comfort  for  the  night  of  our  benefactor,  there  was 
the  Blibgims's  party.  No  long,  confidential  inter 
views,  as  heretofore,  as  to  what  she  should  wear 
and  what  I  should  wear,  and  whether  it  would  do 
to  wear  it  again.  And  Polly  went  in  one  coach, 
and  I  in  another.  No  crowding  into  the  hired 
hack,  with  all  the  delightful  care  about  tumbling 
dresses,  and  getting  there  in  good  order  ;  and  no 
coming  home  together  to  our  little  cosey  cottage, 
in  a  pleasant,  excited  state  of  "  flutteration,"  and 
sitting  down  to  talk  it  all  over,  and  "  Was  n't  it 
nice  ?  "  and  "  Did  I  look  as  well  as  anybody  ? " 
and  "  Of  course  you  did  to  me,"  and  all  that  non- 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  277 

sense.  We  lived  in  a  grand  way  now,  and  had 
our  separate  establishments  and  separate  plans, 
and  I  used  to  think  that  a  real  separation 
could  n't  make  matters  much  different.  Not 
that  Polly  meant  to  be  any  different,  or  was,  at 
heart  ;  but,  you  know,  she  was  so  much  absorbed 
in  her  new  life  of  splendor,  and  perhaps  I  was  a 
little  old-fashioned. 

I  don't  wonder  at  it  now,  as  I  look  back.  There 
was  an  army  of  dressmakers  to  see,  and  a  world 
of  shopping  to  do,  and  a  houseful  of  servants  to 
manage,  and  all  the  afternoon  for  calls,  and  her 
dear,  dear  friend,  with  the  artless  manners  and 
merry  heart  of  a  girl,  and  the  dignity  and  grace 
of  a  noble  woman,  —  the  dear  friend  who  lived  in 
the  house  of  the  Seven  Gables,  to  consult  about 
all  manner  of  important  things.  I  could  not,  upon 
my  honor,  see  that  there  was  any  place  for  me, 
and  I  went  my  own  way,  not  that  there  was 
much  comfort  in  it, 

And  then  I  would  rather  have  had  charge  of 
a  hospital  ward  than  take  care  of  that  uncle. 
Such  coddling  as  he  needed,  such  humoring  of 
whims.  And  I  am  bound  to  say  that  Polly 


2/8  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

could  n't  have  been  more  dutiful  to  him  if  he 
had  been  a  Hindoo  idol.  She  read  to  him  and 
talked  to  him,  and  sat  by  him  with  her  embroid 
ery,  and  was  patient  with  his  crossness,  and 
wearied  herself,  that  I  could  see,  with  her 
devoted  ministrations. 

I  fancied  sometimes  she  was  tired  of  it,  and 
longed  for  the  old  homely  simplicity.  I  was. 
Nepotism  had  no  charms  for  me.  There  was 
nothing  that  I  could  get  Polly  that  she  had 
not.  I  could  surprise  her  with  no  little  deli 
cacies  or  trifles,  delightedly  bought  with  money 
saved  for  the  purpose.  There  was  no  more 
coming  home  weary  with  office  work  and  being 
met  at  the  door  with  that  warm,  loving  welcome 
which  the  King  of  England  could  not  buy.  There 
was  no  long  evening  when  we  read  alternately 
from  some  favorite  book,  or  laid  our  deep  house 
keeping  plans,  rejoiced  in  a  good  bargain  or  made 
light  of  a  poor  one,  and  were  contented  and 
merry  with  little.  I  recalled  with  longing  my 
little  den,  where  in  the  midst  of  the  literary  dis 
order  I  love,  I  wrote  those  stories  for  the  Antartic 
which  Polly,  if  nobody  else,  liked  to  read.  There 


BACKLOG  STUDIES.  279 

was  no  comfort  for  me  in  my  magnificent  library. 
We  were  all  rich  and  in  splendor,  and  our  uncle 
had  come  from  India.  I  wished,  saving  his 
soul,  that  the  ship  that  brought  him  over  had 
foundered  off  Barnegat  Light.  It  would  always 
have  been  a  tender  and  regretful  memory  to  both 
of  us.  And  how  sacred  is  the  memory  of  such  a 
loss  ! 

Christmas  ?  What  delight  could  I  have  in 
long  solicitude  and  ingenious  devices  touching  a 
gift  for  Polly  within  my  means,  and  hitting  the 
border  line  between  her  necessities  and  her  ex 
travagant  fancy  ?  A  drove  of  white  elephants 
would  n't  have  been  good  enough  for  her  now,  if 
each  one  carried  a  castle  on  his  back. 

"  —  and  so  they  were  married,  and  in  their 
snug  cottage  lived  happy  ever  after."-  — It  was 
Polly's  voice,  as  she  closed  the  book. 

"  There,  I  don't  believe  you  have  heard  a  word 
of  it,"  she  said,  half  complainingly. 

"  O  yes,  I  have,"  I  cried,  starting  up  and 
giving  the  fire  a  jab  with  the  poker;  "I  heard 
every  word  of  it,  except  a  few  at  the  close.  I 
was  thinking  "  —  I  stopped,  and  looked  round. 


280  BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

"  Why,  Polly,  where  is  the  camel's-hair  shawl  ? " 

"  Camel's-hair  fiddlestick  !  Now  I  know  you 
have  been  asleep  for  an  hour." 

And,  sure  enough,  there  was  n't  any  camel's- 
hair  shawl  there,  nor  any  uncle,  nor  were  there 
any  Hindoos  at  our  windows. 

And  then  I  told  Polly  all  about  it ;  how  her 
uncle  came  back,  and  we  were  rich  and  lived  in  a 
palace  and  had  no  end  of  money,  but  she  did  n't 
seem  to  have  time  to  love  me  in  it  all,  and  all  the 
comfort  of  the  little  house  was  blown  away  as  by 
the  winter  wind.  And  Polly  vowed,  half  in  tears, 
that  she  hoped  her  uncle  never  would  come  back, 
and  she  wanted  nothing  that  we  had  not,  and  she 
would  n't  exchange  our  independent  comfort  and 
snug  house,  no,  not  for  anybody's  mansion.  And 
then  and  there  we  made  it  all  up,  in  a  manner 
too  particular  for  me  to  mention  ;  and  I  never,  to 
this  day,  heard  Polly  allude  to  My  Uncle  in  India. 

And  then,  as  the  clock  struck  eleven,  we  each 
produced  from  the  place  where  we  had  hidden 
them  the  modest  Christmas  gifts  we  had  pre 
pared  for  each  other,  and  what  surprise  there  was! 
"  Just  the  thing  I  needed."  And,  "  It  's  perfectly 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 


28l 


lovely."  And,  "  You  should  n't  have  done  it." 
And,  then,  a  question  I  never  will  answer,  "  Ten  ? 
fifteen  ?  five  ?  twelve?  "  "  My  dear,  it  cost  eight 
hundred  dollars,  for  I  have  put  my  whole  year 
into  it,  and  I  wish  it  was  a  thousand  times 
better." 

And  so,  when  the  great  iron  tongue  of  the  city 
bell  swept  over  the  snow  the  twelve  strokes  that 
announced  Christmas  day,  if  there  was  any 
where  a  happier  home  than  ours,  I  am  glad  of 
it! 


• 


